Stay
by The She Devil
Summary: When Greg is investigated for the murder of his roommate, he finds a friend in Nick. As Greg finds his professional life falling apart and considers leaving Las Vegas, things get complicated as he and Nick begin developing more than just a friendship. Short story in two parts. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Stay

AUTHOR: The She Devil

EMAIL: thranowski at gmail

CATEGORY: Drama/Romance

RATING: Mature for sexuality.

SPOILERS: Nothing after "For Warrick."

ARCHIVE: Please ask first.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything.

SUMMARY: When Greg is investigated for the murder of his roommate, he finds a friend in Nick. As Greg finds his professional life falling apart and considers leaving Las Vegas, things get complicated as he and Nick begin developing more than just a friendship. Short story in two parts.

NOTES: Hey, guys, remember me? I know, probably not. It's been like at least two years since I've written anything. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this effort. I don't have a proofreader or anything, so sorry for any grammatical or spelling errors. Second part isn't written yet, and will probably take a few weeks. Enjoy. :)

* * *

There was an unwritten rule not to bother Nick Stokes on his days off under any circumstances. Well, perhaps not unwritten, considering the printed sign on his office door that read, "If it's my day off, don't bother calling or looking for me. I am presumed dead." Should someone at the crime lab make the mistake of dialing his cell phone, he or she would receive a rather not-so-polite response that sounded very similar to a fire-breathing dragon or a mauling bear. So when he received a phone call at 3 o'clock in the morning and saw Catherine's name on the ID display of his cell phone, he immediately felt a pit in his stomach. Catherine knew the Wrath of Nick. She wouldn't call unless it was an emergency. She wouldn't call unless something had happened.

Something happened.

"Stokes," he answered, sitting up in bed and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Nick, it's Catherine," she said, her words rushing out of her. "Greg was attacked in his apartment. He's fine but his roommate is dead. I need you to come and get him."

"What?" Nick exclaimed, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. In his haste to turn on the light at his bedside, he knocked the alarm clock off of the nightstand. He didn't hear it hit the ground over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. What did fine mean? "What does fine mean? Is he hurt? Where am I taking him? Does he need to go to the hospital? Why wouldn't an ambulance take him?"

"Nicky, calm down," she responded, but her voice was anything but calm. "He's fine physically...more or less. He has some defensive wounds. He's refusing to go to the hospital but I need you to get him out of here."

"I'm on my way."

Within moments, Nick was racing to Greg's apartment, breaking several state laws and laws of physics while pondering if anyone had yet to break the sound barrier in an SUV.

Attacked. Greg had been attacked. What did that mean, exactly? He hadn't asked Catherine before ending their phone call. Attacked. Attacked. Nick couldn't get it out of his brain. Had Greg been beaten up? Catherine said he was fine physically "for the most part." What did that mean? How did they hurt him? Was it only one person? Was it Greg's roommate, that weirdo Robbie that Nick could never get a good read on? Did Robbie try to kill Greg? Did Greg kill Robbie in self-defense?

There were too many questions. Nick was beginning to think he would have a panic attack in the confines of his SUV, which seemed to be shrinking smaller than that glass box he'd been buried in. He had to think of something else.

Warrick. Nick could only think of not being there. He could only see the blood on Grissom's clothes. He couldn't imagine something like that happening to another friend. Perhaps he and Greg were not nearly as close as he and Warrick had ever been, but he had known the kid since – well, since Greg was a kid. A kid in the DNA lab with crazy hair and loud-patterned shirts and an eagerness to get out of the lab and into the field. He couldn't afford to lose another friend. He didn't think his soul could take it. He could still hear McKeen in his brain, taunting him.

"_What kind of friend are you?"_

Just get to the scene, Nick, he thought to himself, forcefully pushing all other thoughts out of his mind. Just get to the scene.

It only took perhaps twenty minutes to get to Greg's apartment, but to Nick it had felt a hell of a lot longer. Finally, he arrived to flashing blue and red lights spilling onto a parking lot filled with police vehicles, ambulances, and CSU vans. He pulled up slowly to the police tape, parking his SUV and stepping out of it. His eyes frantically searched for Greg or Catherine, or anyone else he may have recognized. A police officer asked him for ID, and he absently flashed his badge while stepping under police tape.

The breezeway that led to Greg's first floor apartment was teeming with police employees funneling in and out. Nick could see a stretcher covered with a white sheet making its way towards him with David pushing from behind.

"Nick," the young doctor said, his voice laced with surprise. "I didn't know you were on tonight."

"I'm not," he replied. "I just came to pick up Greg."

David pointed behind Nick, to the apartments across the parking lot. "He's sitting over there with Catherine. Maybe you can talk some sense into him. He needs to go to the hospital."

Nick turned to see Catherine standing in the grass, her hand on her hip as she barked into her cell phone. She looked aggravated. She looked tense and ready to fight. She looked like a mother lioness protecting her cub. Her cub, on the other hand, looked tired and defeated. He was sitting on the steps behind her, his arms crossed over his chest, his shoulders slumped. Nick's eyes met Greg's, and Greg lamely lifted an arm to wave; Nick could see the bandages on his forearm, blood seeping through the white gauze. There was blood on his clothes too, on his face, and in his hair. There was blood everywhere. Nick could feel his heart catch in his throat. _Jesus_.

He murmured a thanks to David before quickly making his way across the parking lot.

"Nick!" Catherine exclaimed, startling him. "What took you so long?"

Maybe he had taken as long as the ride over had felt, or maybe time had stretched for Catherine too. "Sorry," he responded quietly, unable to take his eyes off of Greg. The younger man's jaw was bruised and swollen on one side. There was a cut above his eyebrow. "I came as quick as I could."

"It's fine," she said, shaking her head. She took a deep breath, exhaling sharply. Looked at Nick. Looked...tired. "Can you take Greg to the crime lab? We need his clothes, pictures, and everything else. He wouldn't go to the hospital, or else they would've done it there."

"Sure," he replied. "Why did you want me to do it?"

"I wanted _anybody_ to do it," she said, her voice edged with frustration. "But Greg wouldn't leave unless it was with you. He wants you to do it."

Nick pulled a face. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Don't ask me."

"Maybe he wanted a strong, handsome, intelligent CSI to take care of business," Nick offered, standing up straighter.

Catherine rolled her eyes, grinning. "Should've called somebody else."

* * *

The drive to the crime lab was silent. Nick was afraid to look at Greg. Every time he stole a glance, he could see a new injury, a new spot of blood, a new tear in Greg's clothes he hadn't noticed before. Mostly he could see the devastation that had been inflicted upon his friend. Could see how small Greg looked sitting in the front seat of the SUV, staring out the window blankly. So instead, he focused on the road ahead of him.

He was afraid to say anything either, or ask him anything. What would he say? _Are you okay?_ Of course he wasn't okay. He was covered in blood and cuts and bruises, he'd just been attacked in his home. He could ask what happened, and then what? Greg would burst into tears? Have a breakdown in Nick's car? What would Nick do then? Would he pat him on the shoulder comfortingly? He could say something soothing, but words weren't really his strong point. He certainly wasn't good at hugging people.

So they rode to the crime lab in a terrible silence that stretched between them like vast continents.

Until: "Don't you want to know what happened?"

"No," Nick responded quickly, looking at Greg sideways. He could see Greg's surprise out of the corner of his eye. "I mean, yes. But I don't want you to get upset."

Greg looked back out the window. Quietly, he said, "Thanks."

* * *

They were inside of an empty interview room. Greg stood with his back to the wall, eyes cast to the ground as Nick took pictures of his face. The bruise on his jaw and the cut above his eye. _Flash._ The young man flinched at the light, and Nick offered a feeble apology under his breath. Next were pictures of Greg's arms. Nick removed the bandages as gingerly as possible, but Greg let out a hiss, wincing visibly. Bloody bandages went into evidence bags, labeled and placed aside.

Nick raised his camera once again, focusing on the cuts and scrapes on Greg's arms. _Flash. _They were obviously defensive wounds from a knife. _Flash. _Next, he took pictures of Greg's clothes. Focused first on the blood stains. Some were from Greg's wounds. Some weren't. _Flash_. He stepped back to take pictures of Greg's whole person. Looked through the lens and focused. Saw the weariness in Greg's body and distress in Greg's eyes. _Flash_.

He put his camera down on the table and pulled open a brown paper bag. "I need your clothes," Nick stated. Greg nodded. "I brought you spares from my locker. They might be too big for you, but they'll do for now."

Greg undressed with unsteady hands. Stood in the interview room naked. Nick couldn't look at him. He was embarrassed, could feel his cheeks flush with crimson as he focused on folding bloody clothes and placing them in the paper bags. Cleared his throat. "I need to take pictures...of you...without your clothes."

"Nick," Greg said, the amusement in his voice causing Nick to finally look at him. "I know how this works."

"Sorry."

"You can stop apologizing," Greg said. "We'll be done soon."

Nick nearly laughed at the audacity of Greg consoling him at a time like this. He picked up his camera and aimed once more at the bruised and battered body of his friend.

_Flash._

* * *

Nick stood on the viewing side of two-way mirror. He appeared stoic, his arms folded across his chest, his legs hip distance apart, but he was a tense bundle of nerves beneath his skin. If anyone touched him he feared he would become undone instantly and explode from the inside out, splattering pieces of himself all over the walls in a gory mess that would put any previous crime scene to shame. Greg had told him he could leave, but Nick couldn't leave him. He promised himself he wouldn't leave another friend behind after failing Warrick, and he wasn't going to break that promise now.

Greg was sitting at an interview table on the other side of the mirror, appearing waif-like in Nick's clothing. There was a detective sitting across from him that Nick had seen around the crime lab a few times. Tom Gibson was his name. He was a young, handsome rookie who had transferred from New York six months ago and had a reputation for being quite a lady killer, although at the moment Nick recalled he was dating a reporter for the Las Vegas Times named Angela Something-or-Other. He was also known for being kind of a dick.

"So this guy your room mate brought home from the bar, what was his name?" Gibson asked, leaning back in his seat.

"He said his name was Peter," Greg responded.

"No last name?" Gibson asked, and Greg shook his head. "So what happened after he came in?"

"We had a couple beers, and then Robbie and Peter decided they were going to go to bed."

"Together?"

"Yeah."

"All right," Gibson breathed, after a pause. He seemed uncomfortable with the idea. "What did you talk about?"

Greg shrugged. "I don't know, random stuff. Robbie told him I was a CSI so we talked about that. He asked about growing up in California and going to Stanford. He – "

"So you talked about you?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Greg replied, almost defensively. "I wasn't really interested in getting to know him. Robbie brings home a lot of guys."

"So you talk about you, and then what?"

Greg sighed. What was Nick saying about Gibson being kind of a dick? "Robbie was getting tired and Peter asked him if he wanted to go to bed. Then they went to bed."

"And then?"

"And then I heard Robbie screaming." Greg paused, raking a shaky hand through his blood-matted hair. Nick waited with bated breath, his heart racing. "Robbie started screaming and I ran to his bedroom. The door was locked and I kicked it open. Peter was on top of him, he was...stabbing him. I screamed at him to stop but he was just stabbing him over and over. He looked at me – "

"Robbie or Peter?" Gibson asked.

"Peter," Greg replied. "He looked at me and I knew he was going to kill me. I ran into my bedroom to get my gun. I keep it in a safe when I'm not sleeping, and I couldn't get the stupid combination right. I knew he was right behind me. I have a small fireproof lockbox on top of my safe, so I picked it up and swung at him. I'm pretty sure I hit him, and I pushed him into the hallway and I think he fell down. I ran past him and he grabbed me and I fell, and then he was on top of me. He was right on top of me and he tried – he kept trying to stab me. I don't really remember how I got him off of me, but I got up and ran into Robbie's room. He was on the bed – "

Greg's voice caught in his throat. He stopped for a moment, leaned back in his chair, and sat there. Took a deep breath and looked up at Gibson.

"He was on the bed and he was still alive," Greg continued quietly, his voice thick. Nick could see every cell of Greg's being focusing on maintaining his composure. "He was...he was in really bad shape and I knew I had to leave him. I knew I couldn't..." Greg swallowed hard, shaking his head in remorse. "Peter came in and pulled me off of Robbie. I pushed him off of me and I ran outside. I almost couldn't get the door open. I ran outside and I had to knock on like, five doors before someone let me in, but I don't blame them. God, I must've looked crazy. I called the police and...and then I waited until someone got me."

Gibson looked up from his notes. "Why did you try to get your gun?"

"What?"

"Why didn't you just leave the apartment?"

Greg looked at Gibson as if he had suggested reasoning with Peter over a cup of tea at high noon.

"Robbie's my friend," he responded. "I couldn't leave him like that."

"_What kind of friend are you?" _Nick thought to himself. Not as good of a friend as Greg.

* * *

The sun was just peeking in between the buildings of the city, pulling long shadows with it as it rose further into the sky. Nick stood in front of the crime lab, allowing the glow of the sunrise to thaw his bones. It had been chilly the night before, and he was grateful the darkness was pulling away to reveal another warm Las Vegas day. As long as the sun still rose, it offered him a glimmer of hope that would always revive his soul.

About an hour or so after Nick had stepped outside to wait for Greg, the junior CSI exited the crime lab. Still wearing Nick's clothes, Greg sighed heavily, looking every one of his thirty-odd years. He didn't notice Nick right away, and instead closed his eyes and tiled his head back, his lips slightly parted. The colors of the sunrise engulfed him in yellows and oranges, and suddenly his expression contorted, and he appeared as if he might cry.

"Greg," Nick blurted out, startling him.

"What are you still doing here?" Greg asked, rubbing his face wearily with both hands. "I thought you left hours ago."

"I was waiting for you," he replied. They stood there in a painfully awkward silence. Nick didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. Greg looked so lost, and Nick didn't know what to give him. He promised to be there for his friend, to never let his friend down, but what was he supposed to do at a time like this? He asked the first thing that popped into his mind: "Can I give you a ride?"

Greg opened his mouth as if to speak, but at first the words wouldn't come. He looked up at Nick, a startling realization in his eyes. Finally, he said, "I don't have anywhere to go."

Nick smiled, reaching out his hand and gesturing Greg to follow. "Sure you do, man. Come on."

* * *

Nick unlocked his door and opened it with a flourish, stepping aside for Greg to enter first. Greg meekly mumbled a thank you, entering the apartment hesitantly with Nick following close behind. He had a modest one bedroom/one bath that one of his sisters had decorated; she was tired of seeing white walls and two black leather couches every time she came to visit. She had kept waiting for him to find a wife to do the job for her, but after Nick had spent over ten years in Las Vegas with still no ring on his finger, she had kind of given up on him.

Immediately, Nick realized how untidy the place was; washed clothes on the couch, pants folded and shirts lying flat in a pile waiting to be hung in the closet. He had left last night's beer bottles strewn on the coffee table, an empty pizza box on the floor beside it. (Yes, he had eaten the whole pizza, but it was his night off – sue him.)

"Sorry for the mess," Nick said, hastily picking up his garbage. He stuffed it into the trash can before swiftly moving to the laundry. "I keep meaning to hang this up but every week I just keep adding to the pile. I..."

Nick trailed off as he looked up to see Greg staring at his reflection in one of the decorative mirrors his sister had put on the wall. He touched the blood in his hair, on his arms. Some had gotten onto his shirt. His face was ashen, his body shaking.

"Greg..." The younger man looked at him, the tears brimming in his eyes threatening to fall. "Let me start the shower for you. Come on, I'll get you a towel and some new clothes."

Greg nodded, stepping away from the mirror and moving towards Nick, who led him into the bathroom. After starting the tap and handing Greg a towel, Nick closed the door behind him and went into his bedroom to get some clothes. It took him a few moments to find a pair of gym shorts he thought would fit Greg's slender waist, and as he returned to the bathroom, opening the door quietly, he could hear Greg's muffled cries in the shower.

Nick stood in the doorway, his heart breaking for his friend. Nick had experienced plenty of trauma in his life, but he couldn't imagine surviving a brutal attack and losing a friend at the same time. And while Greg had admirably tried to save Robbie when most would have run, he still had to leave him behind in order to save his own life, and that would be hard for anybody to live with.

"Here are your clothes," Nick said casually, and Greg quieted immediately. "I'll leave them on top of the hamper."

"Thanks," Greg responded, before Nick retreated from the bathroom, leaving him alone.

* * *

When Greg exited the bathroom, Nick was sitting on one of the leather sofas mindlessly perusing through the television channels. The younger man collapsed into the other couch with visible exhaustion, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

"I only have one bedroom, but you can sleep here," Nick stated. He indicated the pillow and his old maroon Texas A&M blanket he had gathered out of the hall closet and placed on the coffee table. "I got those out for you. I assume you aren't working tomorrow?"

"No," Greg replied. "Catherine told me to call her at the end of the week."

Greg grabbed the pillow and blanket, making haste getting settled on the couch. He stretched like a cat, yawning and arching his back before nestling in the folds of the overstuffed leather. He suddenly made a face and sat up a bit, pulling a stuffed animal out from under his back.

"What is this?" he asked, holding the small monkey.

"Curious George," Nick replied, as if the answer was obvious.

"I know this is Curious George," Greg shot back. "Why is he here?"

"My sister gave him to me."

"Sure she did," Greg responded, and it was nice to see him smile.

"She did! Are you hungry?" Nick asked, rising and heading to the kitchen.

"No."

"I'm going to make myself something to eat. I'll make you something too in case you change your mind."

"Thanks," Greg said, but by the time Nick returned from the kitchen with a plate of eggs in his hand, the younger man was already asleep with George tucked in the crook of his elbow.

After eating, Nick headed into his bedroom, stripping down to his underwear before climbing into bed. His sheets were cool against his bare skin, the mattress soothing against his aching back, and it nearly appeared to be night thanks to the blackout curtains. He closed his eyes, wondering if he'd be able to sleep with his mind racing like it was, but within moments he was mercifully taken into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

The next day, Nick was eager to get to work and see what evidence had been processed from Greg's attack. He had collected plenty of samples from Greg's clothes and body, and had seen the growing pile of items from the apartment before he had left the crime lab. He was sure a police employee's involvement in a vicious attack would be a priority case, thus fast tracking any results, and Nick couldn't wait to get his hands on the results and begin to piece together the puzzle.

Nick quickly got ready, showering and dressing within twenty minutes, skipping a shave to get out the door faster. As he exited his bedroom, he realized it was quiet in the living room. Greg was still knocked out on the couch, snoring softly with his newly acquired stuffed animal curled up next to him. The older man approached him quietly, standing over him, examining his features. The soft skin on his cheek juxtaposed to rugged beard stubble juxtaposed to an ugly purple, swollen bruise on his jaw.

"Greg," he said softly, sitting on the coffee table. The younger man didn't even stir. Nick took his hand, shaking it gently. "Greg."

Greg snatched his hand away, startling awake. He looked at Nick, startling again at his presence before regaining his bearings. "What?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Nick stated. Greg almost casually plucked the Curious George out from his armpit, placing it on the floor. Nick smirked briefly, before Greg could see him. "I'm going to work."

"What time is it?" Greg asked, peering at the sunlight beyond the windows as he sat up a bit. It was earlier than the usual time they would head into their nightly shift, and he seemed confused.

"It's only two," Nick replied. "I'm covering a swing shift. I should be home by midnight. I don't know when they'll release your apartment back to you, but you can stay here until then, okay?"

Greg nodded. "Okay."

Nick was hesitant to leave Greg alone in the apartment, worried he might become anxious or scared. He imagined him crying softly in the shower the night before as water stained red with blood circled the drain, praying for forgiveness like Nick had done when he'd lost Warrick. But Nick had work to do, and he had to leave his friend behind.

Upon arriving to the crime lab, he made a beeline for his office. He was itching to pull up the latest results from Greg's case. After logging in to his computer, he was disappointed to learn he didn't have the clearance to view any of it.

He supposed he should've known better. Perhaps there would be a little bit of a conflict of interest if Nick was able to work on a case that involved a coworker that worked directly with him. He was still mad. He picked up his keyboard and slammed it back down on his desk, standing so quickly his chair toppled backwards.

Where was Catherine?

She wasn't here. It was daytime. She didn't get there until 11pm.

Where was Grissom?

He wasn't here either. It was daytime. He didn't get here until 11pm.

He stood there, chest heaving, nostrils flared, smoke coming out of his ears and laser beams shooting out of his eyes. He needed somebody to find and take care of this. He needed somebody to find to at least vent his frustrations to. He needed somebody to find to possibly yell at.

"Hodges!" he hollered, spotting the unsuspecting lab tech as he walked past Nick's office. The other man spun around, ducking as if to avoid being physically struck by the words Nick was hurling at him. "Do you have the clearance to view Greg's case? I'm locked out."

Hodges smirked, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the door frame. He cocked his head to the side like a mischievous dog. "And what do I get out of it?"

"If you give me the password," Nick responded, "I won't take it from you."

Hodges stopped smiling. "Let me take you to my computer."

Within moments he was standing in front of Hodges' computer viewing Greg's and Robbie's case files. He typed furiously on the keyboard, taking mental notes as he quickly ingested dozens of documents and images. He knew he didn't want to be caught snooping, and he might not have much time before someone could walk in.

So far, they hadn't picked up any DNA that wasn't Greg's or Robbie's from any of the blood samples they had collected. There was also no foreign DNA on the beer bottles they had collected from the apartment. Maybe Peter had forgone drinking, and maybe it had been for a reason. There were still some hair and fibers processing, offering a little bit of hope. Nick also learned that Robbie had borrowed Greg's car that night and it was currently being scoured for evidence in the crime lab's garage.

He frowned, his brow knotted. It was only day one, and he knew he had to have patience, but that wasn't really his forte. He was hoping for something – anything – but he supposed he'd have to wait. At least he could give Greg an update when he returned home.

* * *

The rest of Nick's shift dragged along slowly. He was assigned to a burglary at a senator's home that was nearly an hour's drive away from the crime lab with rush hour traffic. Any level 1 CSI could've been assigned the job, but of course a senator's involvement meant it was a priority case to Ecklie, which in turn meant an experienced Nick had to take it. He would've rather ate his shirt than get stuck for hours in a mansion collecting evidence that would get stuck in backlogs for months when there were more pertinent crimes that needed investigating, but things like this were just the nature of the beast. He was grateful when he was finally able to swipe his employee time card and get the hell out of there.

When he pulled into his parking space in front of his apartment, it was already a couple hours past when he should've been due home, and while it was late he could see the lights were on inside his living room. He was a little more pleased than he would've liked to admit to know that Greg was still up and he'd have someone to spend time with when he got home rather than arriving to his usually empty apartment. He briefly considered how sad that was. Maybe he should get a dog.

Greg was actually asleep when Nick got inside, curled up under the maroon Texas A&M blanket. Nick tried to stay quiet as he moved inside the kitchen to find something to eat. He could smell a lingering scent of what Greg must've cooked for dinner, and instantly his stomach began rumbling.

"I saved you a plate," Greg murmured from the couch, half-awake. "It's in the oven, you just have to heat it up."

"Thanks," Nick said, eagerly pulling out two stuffed peppers. Greg must've gone to the grocery store; Nick's fridge was usually only stocked with beer and whatever leftovers he had accumulated from take-out dinners. "Sorry I woke you."

"It's okay," Greg replied. "My sleep schedule is all messed up. My body doesn't know whether to be awake or not."

"I'm sure," Nick said. He punched the numbers on the microwave before moving into the living room, switching off a floor lamp as he did so. "Did you fall asleep with the lights on?"

Suddenly, Greg seemed sheepish. "I got a little anxious by myself."

Only then did Nick realize that the lights had been on, but not the television or the laptop. He felt his chest swell with sadness for his friend. Felt angry someone could rob Greg of sleeping soundly without having to leave a light on like a child afraid of the dark. "Do you want me to leave them on?"

"I don't need them if you're here."

Nick stepped back into the kitchen, his cheeks suddenly hot. He remembered Catherine telling him that Greg had requested his presence the night before, and wondered why on earth Greg would have so much faith in him, especially after what happened to Warrick. Opening the fridge, he called, "Do you want to have a beer with me?"

"I bought myself some wine," Greg stated. "All you had was like, seventy cans of Bud and Maker's Mark. My taste is a little too sophisticated for that."

Nick laughed. "I'll get you a glass of wine then, you snob."

"Hey, did you get any updates?" Greg asked with a yawn, wincing as he stretched. "I feel like I got hit by a truck."

"Sorry," Nick replied. "Nothing yet. Let me get you some aspirin."

They talked over drinks while Nick ate the most delicious sausage and rice stuffed peppers he'd ever had in his life. He realized he'd never really talked to Greg before like this. They would share an occasional breakfast after work, but always with other coworkers and never one-on-one. Nick had always assumed they didn't have anything in common, and that if they were to go out and spend time together they wouldn't really have any fun. But they talked, and they laughed, and they drank, and before Nick knew it, the sun was coming up.

And this was Nick's life for the next week. He'd go to work, and Greg would have breakfast waiting when he came back. He would go to bed, and when he woke in the evening, Greg would have dinner ready for him. Nick would work, and Greg would keep the apartment tidy and do their laundry. They would spend Nick's nights off watching movies or playing video games, drinking and talking and laughing for hours. And Nick discovered that he and Greg did have a lot in common, and that he actually liked spending time with Greg. They had a lot of fun together.

"You know," Nick commented over breakfast one morning. "When you go back to your apartment, I don't know what I'm going to do with myself."

"Are you leaving me?" Greg asked, and feigned hurt. "But I thought I made you happy."

"We might not've worked out," Nick replied, grinning, "but I'm sure one day you'll make a great wife to one very lucky man."

"I hope you know I'm getting half of everything."

Nick laughed. "We'll see what my lawyer has to say about that."

"I'm taking George too."

"Our only son?" Nick asked, shocked. "A boy needs his father."

"You can have him on the weekends," Greg responded. "Listen, I know you just came from work but can you give me a ride back there this morning? Detective Gibson said he has some more questions for me. I hope this means he's got some leads to follow. Do you know anything?"

Nick shook his head, cutting into his pancakes. "They haven't recovered anything as far as I know. They couldn't identify some fibers, but other than that, no fingerprints or DNA that isn't yours or Robbie's."

Greg's shoulders fell. He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands wearily. "Maybe he's just going to do the same bullshit we do to everybody else. Go over the same questions and then, 'Sorry, we'll call you if we ever get anything.'"

"Relax," Nick said, reaching across the table to touch Greg's arm comfortingly. "Maybe he's got something else for you."

Nick would end up being more right than he could've imagined.

* * *

Greg once again was sitting across the table from Gibson, who was almost making it a point to appear nonchalant as he skimmed through his notepad. Nick, who stood on the other side of the two-way mirror, could immediately tell something was off about the young detective. He seemed...tense beneath his casual facade. And while Nick wasn't sure what the purpose of this new interview was, he was sure he didn't like the vibe he was getting. Greg sat nervously in his chair, bouncing his knee and chewing on his lip. Perhaps he felt it too.

"So Robbie brought this guy home from the bar, and he said his name was Peter?" Gibson asked.

"Yeah," Greg replied.

"And he didn't give you his last name?"

"No."

"Robbie often brought home random guys?"

"Yeah."

"Robbie was gay?"

"Yes."

"And you?"

Nick furrowed his brow, frowning. While he was curious to know what the answer would be, he also wondered why the question was being asked.

Greg opened and closed his mouth twice, before asking, "Excuse me?"

"Are you gay?" Gibson asked, his gaze meeting Greg's with a look that challenged the young CSI to give him a different answer than what he was expecting.

"I've...been with men before."

"So you are gay," Gibson stated, still not breaking his stare.

"I've been with women before too."

"So you're bisexual."

"If that's what you want to call it."

"What would you call it?" Gibson asked, unimpressed.

"I guess I'd call it that," Greg conceded.

"Were you and Robbie ever romantically involved?"

"What do you mean by that?" Greg asked. Suddenly Gibson seemed uncomfortable.

"Were you and Robbie ever...intimate.?

"I'm not sure I understand."

Nick smiled. Greg was going to make him say it. Finally, Gibson looked away, shifting in his seat, and Nick felt satisfied.

"Did you and Robbie ever have sex?" he clarified, spitting the foul-tasting words out.

"Yes."

"Were you and Robbie ever in a relationship?"

"No."

"Were you ever jealous of these guys that Robbie brought home?"

He could almost see the words physically hit Greg, watched Greg absorb them and saw the realization cross Greg's face. Felt the realization in his own being and felt his heart skip a beat.

"Where is this going?" Greg asked quietly.

"Greg," Gibson said, pushing his steno pad and pencil aside. He leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "The truth is, there's no evidence to show that anybody else was in that apartment except for you and Robbie."

"_You think I murdered him?"_ Greg shouted, his metal chair scraping against the floor as he nearly jumped back in surprise. "You're accusing me of murdering Robbie?"

"I haven't accused you of anything," Gibson said, leaning back in his chair. He seemed so smug, and Nick had to fight the urge to burst into the interview room and wipe the floor with him.

"Really?" Greg asked. "Because it sure sounds like you're accusing me of murder."

"I'm just covering all my bases."

"I didn't kill Robbie," Greg declared firmly. "Robbie was my friend."

"Such a brutal murder," Gibson said. "You would think there would be some kind of evidence left behind by this Peter guy."

"Go fuck yourself," Greg spat, as he stood. He crossed the room to the door, his hand on the doorknob. "I'm leaving."

"We're not finished talking."

"Unless your charging me with something," Greg challenged, "I'm leaving."

They stood for a moment, eye to eye and man to man, both wanting resolution and both willing to get it in different ways. Finally, Gibson sighed, waving him out the door.

Greg flew down the hallway in a whirlwind, flinging open the front door and stepping into the sunlight. He quickly made his way to Nick's SUV at the edge of the parking lot, pacing behind it, his chest heaving and his jaw clenched. Nick followed as fast as he could, ready to stand beside Greg and fight the world side by side.

"Greg," Nick breathed, placing a hand on Greg's shoulder. He could feel how tense the younger man was, his hot skin ablaze with anger. "Greg, it's okay. Screw him, he doesn't know what he's talking about."

"He thinks I murdered Robbie," Greg stated, and repeated, "He thinks I murdered Robbie."

"I know," Nick responded. "He doesn't have any evidence that says you did."

"Really?" Greg asked, still pacing. "Because it sounds like he has plenty of evidence that says Robbie and I were the only ones in the apartment, and Robbie's dead so where does that leave me?"

"He would've arrested you if he really believed you killed him."

Greg suddenly stopped pacing, his back to Nick. Quietly, he asked, "Do you believe it?"

Nick's heart broke. "Of course not."

Greg turned, his face displaying his utter devastation. "I'm so fucked."

"No, you aren't."

"Yes, I am!" he shouted, holding out his hands in a pleading gesture. "Not only does everyone think I murdered my roommate, now my entire sex life is going to be water cooler conversation!"

"No, Greg, it's – "

"You don't think I know what the cops already say about me?" Greg asked, and Nick knew it was true. "Especially after I got beat up, and now this? God, I'm so fucked."

"Greg – "

The younger man buried his face in his hands, pressing his fingers into his eyes and letting out a frustrated, guttural groan. He stayed that way, his shoulders shaking as a choked sob escaped his throat, and he stood there crying, helpless and afraid, and Nick wasn't sure what to do. He just knew his friend needed him, and he wished he was as strong as Greg thought he was. A strong man would know what to do at a time like this.

Nick took a deep breath, determined to fix this. He took Greg into his arms and pulled him into his chest, holding him close. Greg clung to him like a man lost at sea would desperately clutch a buoy in an attempt to stay afloat. Nick promised not to let him drown.

"Come on, man, it's okay," he murmured into Greg's hair, stroking his back soothingly. He felt Greg's warm body against his own, his hair smelling sweet like fruit and candy. "Everything's going to be okay."

"Robbie was my friend," Greg croaked. "I didn't kill him."

"I know," Nick said, quietly. In a few moments Greg was quiet, his chest shuddering as he took deep, calming breaths. He pulled back a little, meeting Nick's gaze with red, puffy eyes, his hand touching the side of Nick's face. He brushed his thumb across Nick's cheekbone, and it was...uncomfortably intimate.

Greg's eyes widened, and he took a step back, abruptly ending the contact. "I'm so sorry. That was really inappropriate."

"It's fine," Nick said, waving off his concern. They stood there awkwardly, and Nick said the first thing that came to mind. "Let's get drunk."

Greg nodded. "Please."

* * *

It was two in the afternoon, and they had effectively accomplished their mission. Empty bottles of beer and wine were strewn across the living room floor, a nearly empty bottle of Maker's Mark whiskey on the coffee table in front of them. They sat on the floor of the living room, their backs pressed against the couch as they destroyed zombies with guns and machetes and Molotov cocktails on the TV.

"Stop shooting me!" Greg shouted, elbowing Nick's side. "I have like no life left!"

"Stop running in front of me!" Nick shot back. "There's a thousand zombies, I can't keep track of you too."

Greg let out a frustrated groan as he lost his life in the video game, tossing his controller into the carpet and pouting with gusto. "I died."

"I see that," Nick said, pausing the game. He put down his controller and took a swig of whiskey.

"Catherine said I could come back to work on Monday," Greg said quietly.

"That's good," Nick replied, although it didn't really seem that Greg felt the same way.

The younger man shrugged. "I don't think I want to go back now."

"You're just a little nervous because you haven't worked in two weeks." Nick placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I work Monday too. We'll go in together, okay? We're in this together."

Greg nodded, chewing on his lip, but he wouldn't meet Nick's gaze.

"It'll be fine, you'll see." Nick attempted to stand, but he found himself leaning heavily on the coffee table and Greg's shoulder for support. He failed the first time, laughing at his own unsteadiness. "Holy shit. I'm going to bed. I have to be up in like four hours. I have to work tonight."

Greg grabbed Nick's arm before he could fall; he tried to help him stand, but Greg wasn't very steady himself.

"Do you need me to help you to bed?" Greg asked.

"Why?" Nick asked, a little too quickly.

"So you won't die on the way there?" Greg responded, and he sounded almost offended.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you had another reason to help me to bed."

"What reason would that be?"

Nick scoffed. "Please." He indicated himself. "Who wouldn't want this?"

Laughter exploded from Greg. "I'm not attracted to you."

Nick was immediately serious. "Why not?"

Greg shrugged casually. "You aren't my type."

"What are you talking about? I'm everybody's type."

"Almost everybody," Greg said. "Not mine."

"There's no way you don't want this."

"Agree to disagree."

"Fine." Nick walked into his bedroom, but not before turning dramatically. "There are plenty of people that want this."

"I'm sure there are," Greg said, nodding in agreement as he compressed a smile. "I'm just not one of them."

Nick closed the door behind him, moving to the windows to pull his thick curtains closed before removing his clothes and sliding in between his covers, resting on the bed with a grateful sigh. He laid there on his back, in the dark, eyes closed. And he waited.

He was dozing, nearly giving up and just allowing himself to drift into the edges of sleep when he heard the bedroom door. He felt the bed dip, the covers shift, and a warm, strong body pressed against his back. Soft lips were on his neck, beard stubble scratching at his skin, fingertips fluttering across his hip and down his thigh and...

Nick sighed audibly as Greg wrapped slender fingers around his penis, gripping him firmly and stroking him expertly. It didn't take long before he was fully erect, aching for release. He turned to face Greg, desperately reaching for him, finding his hard cock and grabbing him, jerking him off with a pace that matched Greg's.

He found Greg's lips next, moaning into his mouth as Greg tried his best to see how far he could push his tongue down Nick's throat. Nick felt his heart racing and his mind spinning, alcohol and lust and logic fighting for control. This was a bad idea. A bad idea. Greg was in a vulnerable place, and Nick was taking advantage of him. It didn't matter that Greg had climbed into Nick's bed. Nick knew exactly what he was doing by talking to him that way before bed. But he wanted him. He wanted him and he was losing control and Greg felt so good and before he knew it he was coming into Greg's hand, felt Greg coming into his own hand, and it all felt so, so good.

He panted heavily in the dark, lying there boneless as he fought to regain his bearings. He turned and reached to the floor behind him, grabbing his underwear and cleaning himself up with it. When he turned back, he realized that Greg was gone, and he was alone.

He laid there on his back, in the dark, eyes closed. And he waited. But Greg never came back.

* * *

Nick woke up four hours later with a splitting headache and a sour stomach. He felt as if he might see the burger and fries he'd eaten for lunch again, but not in the same condition they'd gone down. Shakily, he showered and brushed his teeth. Slowly, he dressed. Hesitantly, he placed his hand on the doorknob, taking a deep breath before exiting the bedroom.

Greg was sleeping soundly on the couch. Nick wondered why he didn't remain in the bed with him and instead chose to stay out here, alone. Perhaps Nick hadn't been the only one taking advantage of a friend. Maybe they both had just needed a little release.

He didn't want to ponder it any further. Instead, he grabbed leftovers from the night before that Greg had packed for lunch for him and left for the night.

The next couple days passed without incident. Neither man spoke of what had happened between them, and Nick believed that maybe it was better that way. They fell back into their same routine: Nick would awaken in the evening and Greg would have dinner ready for him. He'd arrive home from work with breakfast on the table. In their free time they would share drinks and talk and laugh and maybe flirt a little more than they should. Business as usual.

Monday came quickly. Greg was a nervous ball of energy bouncing around the apartment before their shift started. Nick was filling a travel mug with coffee in the kitchen, watching the younger man out of the corner of his eye fluttering in and out of his line of vision. He kept talking and talking – about what Nick couldn't really say; he just kept running his mouth on random topics. Weather. Work. Cooking. Movies. California. The strip. TV. Food. Beer.

"Greg," Nick finally said, but the young man was still talking.

"...I told him if he really wanted to go I would take him, but he didn't..."

"Greg."

"...ever call me, so I don't know if he was just trying to be nice or whatever – "

"_Greg."_

"What?"

"Can you please," Nick pleaded, "shut the fuck up and take a deep breath."

Greg almost laughed, realizing how he must've sounded. He nodded, took a few shaky breaths, and then stood in the living room, quiet.

Then: "Do you know who's been handling my follow-ups for me? I had a lot of mail in my inbox when I looked earlier and I'm afraid no one's kept up with any of my work. Do you think I should talk to Catherine about that? Or would Grissom know? I always get the feeling Catherine would know more about that kind of stuff, she..."

Nick tiredly rubbed his eyes, before sighing heavily. Greg cleared his throat, sheepish.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm just...nervous."

"I know," Nick stated. He handed a coffee mug to Greg, although he knew Greg didn't really like the way Nick made his coffee (but Greg didn't really like the way anyone made his coffee). "It'll be just like before you left. Just be cool."

* * *

It wasn't really like before he left. There was a hush in the police station when they walked through the waiting area, suspicious eyes following Greg down the hall. Nick nodded at the officers, but Greg pointedly looked forward, keeping his head down. The jittery, talkative Greg was gone now, and all that was left was a quiet and shy kid that seemed afraid to get picked on by the popular kids at school. They continued past interview rooms and the armory, beyond the fitness center and conference room, making a beeline for the locker room. Inside were more scrutinizing stares and low voices. Nick made a point to greet the officers and other CSIs and engage in small talk, attempting to ease the tension. In contrast, Greg's face was buried in his locker as he made haste looking busy.

The other men that had occupied the small space exited the room, and Greg leaned his forehead against his locker with a loud thud.

"That wasn't awkward at all," Greg said, and groaned into the cold metal.

"Greg, you didn't even talk to anybody," Nick stated. "You just need to act yourself and everyone will see that you're the same guy you were when you left."

"I know, it's just..." Greg trailed off, and Nick could see the frustration on his face. "I can feel their eyes on me."

"Just be cool, remember?" Nick said. Greg nodded unconvincingly. Nick grabbed his shoulders, pulling him close and roughing him up playfully. "Be cool, right?"

Greg pushed him away, smiling as they exited the locker room. "All right, all right."

* * *

Nick was separated from Greg early in his shift, but couldn't help checking on his friend every so often. Greg was mostly consumed with catching up on the work he'd left behind two weeks ago, and soon Nick was too involved in his own cases to remember to worry about Greg. He glanced at the clock, and unknowingly it had been three hours since he'd seen the younger man. He quickly paused in his work, poking his head out the hall to see if he could spot Greg, and was relieved to see him talking to Catherine and Henry, smiling and laughing.

His reprieve was short lived. It was seven in the morning, and Ecklie was coming down the hallway, heading straight for Greg. The undersheriff was never here this early unless he had a reason to be, and it usually wasn't good. The older man put a hand on Greg's shoulder, leaning in to whisper something into his ear, and Nick could see Greg's brow furrow. Greg nodded, and then Ecklie was gone as swiftly as he had arrived.

Nick could see a shift in the conversation between the three investigators down the hall as Greg's body language changed. He seemed distracted and concerned. Nick set his jaw, immediately wanting to ask Greg what was said, but he was in the middle of processing evidence and couldn't leave his work. Later. There was only an hour left in their shift, and he'd be able to ask Greg on the way home.

Quickly, Nick finished up the last of his shift and swiped his employee time card with vigor. He waited in his SUV for the young man to emerge from the crime lab, at first sitting inside and listening to the radio while tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. Before long he was feeling too anxious within the small cab and stood outside, leaning against the back bumper. A few minutes went by. Then ten. Then thirty.

Greg wasn't answering his phone or texts. Nick was about to go back inside when the younger man finally exited the crime lab. He looked pissed.

"What happened?" Nick asked, stepping closer to him. "Did you get caught up in a case? Why didn't you answer my calls?"

"I was in a meeting with Ecklie and Gibson," Greg replied, moving to the passenger's side of the SUV. He pulled on the handle several times in a row, but the door was locked. "Can you please open the door?"

"What happened?" Nick asked again.

"They just wanted to talk to me about Robbie," Greg said, pulling on the handle again. "Can you please open the door?"

"What did you talk about?" Nick pressed.

"We talked about Robbie."

"I heard you. What did you talk about specifically?"

"_We fucking talked about Robbie can you open the fucking door?"_

Nick unlocked the door with his keyless entry and moved to the driver's side. They both got in, slamming their doors a little harder than necessary. Nick put the key in the ignition, but didn't turn over the engine. He looked at Greg. Greg looked at him. Jaws set, breathing heavy. They were a mirror image of frustration. Then:

They reached for each other, Nick grasping the nape of Greg's neck possessively, pulling the younger man's mouth to his. Greg grabbed at Nick's shirt, gripping the fabric in his fists and propelling himself forward, pushing Nick up against the driver's side window of the SUV. They kissed roughly, teeth hitting against each others', lips bruising. Nicks hands were running beneath Greg's shirt, feeling smooth skin and taught muscles. Greg was warm and tasted like coffee, and Nick was quickly losing control and didn't have an excuse this time. He was sober and knew what he was doing, and Greg was upset and vulnerable. He couldn't do this. Not this way.

"Wait," he breathed, pushing Greg away from him forcefully. Greg leaned over him, lips swollen, brown eyes ablaze with desire. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"You..." He trailed off, his mind a blur. "You're upset."

"Yes."

"We shouldn't do this."

"Yeah."

"_I _shouldn't do this."

"Why?"

"It would be wrong of me to take advantage of you."

"I don't care."

Nick grabbed Greg's wrist, pulling him close, kissing him fervently. Felt Greg's hands on him, all over his chest and back, pressing his thigh into Nick's growing erection. Nick grabbed at Greg's belt, clumsily undoing the buckle and fumbling with the button and fly. Suddenly, Greg's mouth was gone and Nick was left gasping as teeth scraped against his neck. They were soon at his waist, nibbling on his skin, biting at his hipbone.

"Greg," he moaned.

"What?"

"I..." he began, but he didn't have the words.

"You...?" Greg asked, a coy smile at his lips.

"Please."

Greg moved to Nick's crotch, fluidly unbuckling Nick's belt and opening his button and fly. Took Nick down his throat and Greg's mouth was incredible.

"God," Nick sighed. "What are you doing to me?"

It wasn't long before Nick came, and Greg swallowed him whole. Nick was lightheaded with his release, his chest heaving, his heart racing. He sat back for a moment, barely registering Greg grabbing an extra shirt in the car and cleaning himself up; he would've been more excited to imagine Greg jerking himself off while blowing Nick but he couldn't seem to gather his wits after such an intense experience.

They drove home in silence. Several times, Nick tried to imagine something to say, but he wasn't sure what could possibly be appropriate at a time like this. He parked in front of his apartment, killing the engine and sitting there for a moment with Greg. They both fidgeted nervously, unable to look at one another. Finally, Nick cleared his throat.

"Well," he said, staring at the steering wheel. "That wasn't awkward at all."

They shared a sideways glance, smiling.

"Can you tell me what happened now?" Nick asked.

"Ecklie said he'd gone over all the case files with Gibson," Greg began, and continued with irritation, "who I didn't know was going to be there. Ecklie said because I was a police employee and had been there for so long, he was going to give me the benefit of the doubt." Greg paused, rolling his eyes as he leaned his head back against the seat. "He said it like I should be fucking grateful."

"And Gibson?"

Greg scoffed. "He didn't say a word, but he didn't have to. Ecklie said we were all just doing our jobs. 'Covering all our bases.' Wonder where he got that from?"

Nick remembered hearing the same phrase from Gibson during Greg's second interview. He wondered just how extensively Ecklie had reviewed the case files, or was he taking Gibson's word at face value? Nick was well aware the cops would stick together before considering a lowly CSI nerd.

"He said..." Greg trailed off, shaking his head incredulously. "He told me to keep my nose clean and my head down."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nick spat.

"It means they aren't giving me the benefit of the doubt."

* * *

Nick was walking down the hall in the crime lab towards Grissom's office to obtain a signature when he saw Greg sitting alone in the break room with some coffee and a bag of chips. It had been a week since Greg had begun working again, and slowly Nick could see he was getting back into the swing of things. He was a lot less subdued, joking around more and engaging in conversation, almost back to the Greg they used to know. The cops were still dicks, but they had never been very nice to Greg in the first place. They didn't like lab rats in general, but had always had a particular disdain for Greg. There was something about Greg's uninhibited personality that some of the officers considered too flamboyant, and of course the only rational thing to do was sling derogatory slurs and catcall in the parking lot – which had only gotten worse after Greg's second interview with Gibson.

"Breakfast of champions, huh?" Nick mused, leaning in the doorway.

"No, I had a sandwich earlier," Greg replied absently, meeting Nick's eyes only for a moment. Nick suddenly realized the television wasn't on, and both Greg's coffee mug and bag of chips were empty.

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly, stepping into the room. He pulled up a chair and sat down across from his friend anxiously.

Greg waved away Nick's concern. "It's nothing. I just...they released my apartment back to me today. They gave me a bunch of numbers for cleanup services, but I can't..." He swallowed hard, before clearing his throat. "I don't think I can go back there."

"Don't worry about it," Nick quickly responded. "Give me the numbers, I'll call and get it cleaned up. I'll get some of your things and you can keep staying with me until you find another place. I'm sure your landlord will understand why you wouldn't want to go back there."

Greg nodded. "Thanks."

After dropping Greg off at home, Nick went to Greg's apartment with a list of things the young man wanted. While Nick had been to hundreds of crime scenes before, he had never been to one that directly involved a friend, and he was nervous as he unlocked the front door.

The smell hit him first. The sour, coppery scent of blood invaded his nostrils, and he put a fist to his nose as he entered the living room. He coughed, taking a few shallow breaths and allowing himself to adjust to the stale air. He could immediately see obvious signs of a struggle; the coffee table was upended, broken glass on the floor along with a shattered lamp. Steaks of blood were on the floor and parts of the wall.

Slowly, Nick crossed the room to the hallway to find more blood. As he touched a splintered door frame to a bedroom, he remembered Greg saying he'd kicked in Robbie's door and thought this must be his room. Carefully, he pushed the door open. The mattress was bare, covered in deep red stains instead of bedsheets. Red on the walls, on the floor, on the carpet, splattered everywhere. Jesus.

He left the room, moving into Greg's bedroom down the hall. It was neatly kept except for some small spots of blood on the carpet. Greg had instructed him to get a suitcase out of his closet and put some clothes inside, and after he was finished with the task he stood there for a moment, biting his lip. Greg had a dresser and two nightstands filled with many drawers, and it took all of his willpower not to go through them like a diligent CSI (or a curious, possessive boyfriend).

Keeping his common decency in check, Nick grabbed Greg's electronic tablet and laptop, then moved into the bathroom and grabbed some toiletries even though Greg had already replaced most of these, tiring of Nick's cheap hair product after a couple days. Afterward, he went into the kitchen, snatched Greg's secret stash of coffee, and moved back to the living room, grabbing video games and an external hard drive full of pirated movies.

Finally, he was ready to go, and grateful to get the hell out of there. He turned to leave, pausing at the sight of bloody fingerprints on the inside of the front door. Nick felt his heart racing as he imagined Greg fighting for his life, frantically struggling to open the door with a cold blooded killer hot on his heels, and briefly thanked God he'd made it out of there alive.

Nick arrived home about an hour after he'd left Greg. The younger man was cooking breakfast, a wonderful smell in contrast to what Nick had walked into when entering Greg's apartment.

"Got everything?" Greg asked, following Nick into the living room like a child eagerly awaiting a Christmas present. "Did you get my coffee?"

"Yes," Nick replied. He stopped walking, with Greg following so close the younger man nearly toppled over him. "As much as it pained you to tell me where it was."

"I didn't want you to steal it," Greg stated, pulling it out of his luggage with a flourish. He hugged the blue bag with enthusiasm. "I missed you so much."

"You've got problems," Nick said, shaking his head. He sat down on the couch heavily, leaning his head back. "I called the cleanup service. They're going to come out on Thursday."

"Great, thanks," he heard Greg call from the kitchen.

Nick had sat down on the couch Greg usually slept on, the blanket folded neatly on the headrest. He could smell Greg on it, pulled it from the back of the couch and laid down with it, burying his face in the maroon blanket and inhaling deeply. He closed his eyes and felt so comforted surrounded by Greg's scent. He could almost imagine the young man beside him, feel the warmth of Greg's skin and taste coffee on Greg's lips. Smelled coffee in the air. So strong Nick opened his eyes, looking up to see Greg holding a cup out to him. He looked...amused.

"Do you want some coffee?"

"No," Nick replied. "I'm going to bed."

"I just made breakfast." Greg pouted. "I made biscuits and gravy. That's your favorite."

"I'm tired, and I could stand to skip a meal. I've gained five pounds since you've lived here."

"A man needs to eat," Greg said, heading into the kitchen and returning shortly with two plates. He grabbed the newspaper before sitting down, handing the sports section to Nick wordlessly, and they sat in silence as they ate breakfast and read. Nick idly wondered how this had become his life, eating delicious homemade meals prepared with care, sitting in comfortable silence while reading the paper on a weekday morning with a man he enjoyed spending time with. He wondered how long this would last. They had yet to speak of the two sexual encounters that had occurred between them, and it was eating away at Nick wondering what it all meant. But he didn't want to shatter this picturesque life by asking. Not just yet.

"_Fuck."_

Greg's vulgarity pulled Nick out of his contemplation. The young man was staring at the newspaper, his mouth agape, his breathing heavy, a kind of anger in his eyes that Nick had never seen before.

"What?" Nick asked, sitting up straighter. "What happened?"

Greg didn't answer. He just handed the newspaper to Nick. It was the local news section. Nick put down his coffee and grabbed the paper from him, skimming over the page before landing on a familiar name: Angela Kassab, reporter for the Las Vegas Times. Writing an article regarding suspicions surrounding a CSI who was supposedly attacked in his apartment, but according to her source there wasn't any evidence to support an intruder. The same CSI who had run over a suspect in an SUV just years earlier, effectively killing him. She was questioning the two week "paid vacation" Greg had been given following Robbie's murder, asking why he wasn't at least on leave while the police conducted their investigation. Asking how the department was supposed to keep Las Vegas safe when they couldn't even keep their own employees out of trouble. And wasn't it a conflict of interest if the LVPD crime lab worked the case themselves?

Nick threw the paper to the floor, his blood boiling. "What the fuck is this?"

"He told her everything," Greg stated. He sat back on the couch, raking a hand through his hair. "That asshole Gibson told her everything."

"Greg, this is bullshit," Nick hissed. He was so angry he felt like slamming his fist into the wall, but previous experience taught him not to. Especially since his apartment walls were made of concrete, and one doctor's visit for a broken knuckle was enough to learn a lesson.

"You're telling me. They didn't _give_ me a paid vacation," Greg seethed. "I had to use my fucking vacation time that I was saving to visit my fucking parents so I could pay my fucking rent for an apartment I couldn't even fucking live in and pay a fucking car payment for a car that I don't even fucking have!"

The junior CSI stood, grabbing his coffee mug and throwing it across the room, smashing it to pieces against the wall. Nick had never seen Greg so angry.

"Fuck!" Greg yelled, standing at the door that led to the balcony, squinting into the rising sun. "I'm going to lose my job."

"No, you aren't," Nick said, standing and crossing the room to stand beside his friend. "You haven't done anything wrong, Greg."

"No one believes me."

"It doesn't matter," Nick responded. Greg shot him look. "It doesn't. They don't have a real legal reason to fire you, or to put you on leave, or to suspend you – nothing. They don't have a reason, Greg, don't you see that? They're just trying to fix their lipstick and look pretty for the Sheriff, and they don't care who they have to stomp on to do it. Don't you see that?"

Greg sighed, turning to face Nick. He looked just as lost as when he'd emerged from the crime lab the night of his attack, his eyes begging Nick for something Nick wasn't sure he could give him. Nick reached his hand out, his fingers lacing into Greg's, felt his heart racing when Greg's thumb brushed over his knuckles.

"Greg..."

There was a chirping from the sofa. Greg's cell phone. The young man moved across the room, plucking it from between the cushions. He rolled his eyes.

"It's Ecklie," he said, before answering tersely. "Yeah? I saw it...No...I know...You think I ran my mouth to somebody about this? Why don't you talk to your detective who can't seem to keep his mouth shut about an open case to his reporter girlfriend?"

Nick could hear Ecklie's muffled voice on the other end of the line speaking quickly and harshly.

"Why?" Greg asked. "I'm asking why are you telling me to stay home until you call me? Am I on administrative leave?" Greg rolled his eyes. "Can you tell me what policy I've violated? Or what law, maybe a commandment?"

Nick raised an eyebrow. Was Greg really doing this with Ecklie? There was more screaming on the other end of the line, before Greg ended the phone call. He sat down on the couch heavily, tossing his phone on the coffee table.

"Well?" Nick asked, sitting beside him.

"I'm working tonight," he stated defiantly. "You're right, Nick. I haven't done anything wrong, and if I lose my job, at least I'll go down fighting."

* * *

More hushed voices and dirty looks as they entered the crime lab. Nick was done with his pretense of "being cool" and showing everyone Greg was an innocent victim and there was nothing to be afraid of. Instead, he was so angry that all it took for an entire department to turn on you was one lousy theory from one lousy detective. The article in the paper that morning only served to reinforce everyone's suspicions and push Greg further into exile.

They were inside the locker room getting ready for their shift when a pair of officers walked in. They were immediately quiet, sharing a look between them before moving to their lockers. Nick watched Greg carefully, Greg's expression strained, but the young man said nothing. He closed his locker door and nodded at Nick before hurriedly leaving.

Nick rushed to catch up to him, afraid to leave him alone out there. He stuffed his backpack into his locker and was grabbing his things when he heard the officers snickering.

"I don't even know how he can show up here after that article," one of them said.

"I don't even know how he still has a job here," the other replied.

Nick slammed his locker closed, startling the officers. "He still has a job here because he hasn't done anything wrong. Maybe if you guys stopped gossiping like school girls and did your fucking jobs like men you could catch whoever murdered his roommate."

The officers cast their eyes to the ground, effectively chastised. Nick stormed out of the locker room, the door swinging closed behind him. But not before he heard: "Sorry, didn't mean to offend your _boyfriend_."

Nick set his jaw, pausing only briefly before continuing down the hall. He passed Grissom's office, whose door was open just an inch, and he could hear Grissom and Ecklie arguing. It was too late in the night for Ecklie to still be here. Curious, he paused, leaning against the wall casually and pretending to look through his e-mail on his phone while keeping an eye out for Greg.

"I understand where you're coming from, Conrad," Grissom said. "But he hasn't done anything wrong. He hasn't violated any company policies or broken any laws. He was a victim."

"Did you read that article in the paper this morning?" Ecklie asked hotly. "I have the press calling my office every five minutes demanding answers."

"Then give them answers," Grissom responded. "We don't have anything to hide."

"I told him to keep his head down," Ecklie stated. "This is not keeping his head down."

"I hardly think one of your detectives discussing an open case with his significant other is Greg's fault."

"I'm standing right here," Nick heard Greg say, startled to hear his voice. He knew he shouldn't have let him leave the locker rooms alone. "And I would appreciate if you guys would include me in this conversation."

"I'm sorry, Greg," Grissom apologized, just as Ecklie said, "Stay out of this."

"I think this is his business," Grissom retorted. "Until you have a legitimate reason for me to have Greg go home, he's staying on the roster."

"Then he stays on desk duty. And doesn't get any new cases."

"There's no reason for that either."

"Pending a psychological evaluation – "

"What?" Greg interrupted, and suddenly the three men were all speaking at the same time.

"Greg isn't to go out into the field or receive any new cases until – "

"Conrad, Greg is not a sworn officer and was not involved in any trauma on the job," Grissom stated. "A mandatory psychological intervention isn't warranted."

"I don't need a psychological evaluation."

"Greg isn't going out into the field or receiving any new cases until – " Ecklie tried repeating.

"There isn't any evidence to suggest he hasn't performed at his full potential."

"I'm not undergoing a psychological evaluation."

"_I am the undersheriff of this department and I am ordering Greg Sanders to receive a psychological evaluation before he goes out into the field or receives any new cases!"_ Ecklie boomed, silencing Grissom and Greg. "Until further notice, you will stay on desk duty and you still stay out of trouble, Mr. Sanders, do you understand me?"

There was a brief pause.

Again: "Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Do not let me see a member of your staff's name in the paper again," Ecklie continued, presumably to Grissom. "Do not let me hear a member of your staff's name again over a police scanner at three in the morning, and do not let me hear a member of your staff's name again from the sheriff when he calls me and asks me what the hell it is you guys are doing over here at night. Do I make myself clear, Gil?"

"Yes," Grissom replied.

There was silence. Then, Ecklie's voice again: "This isn't over."

The door swung open, startling Nick. He tried to feign indifference and pretend that he hadn't been eavesdropping, but the glare Ecklie gave him told Nick the undersheriff wasn't buying it. Frankly, Nick didn't care. It had taken all of his willpower not to storm in there and tell Ecklie exactly what he thought about the situation. He stepped into the room now, seeing Grissom standing behind his desk and Greg sitting in one of the chairs with his head in his hands. Grissom appeared calm, but the look in his eyes screamed otherwise. Greg appeared angry, but defeated.

"Gris, what the hell was that?" Nick asked.

"That was a bureaucrat's attempt at damage control," his supervisor responded. "Greg appears to be stuck on desk duty for now."

"I heard," Nick said angrily. Grissom gave him a curious look. "I...might have been listening outside the door. What are we going to do about this?"

"I'm not sure," Grissom responded.

"We can't just let the department walk all over him," Nick pleaded. "This is harassment. There has to be something we can do."

"Again," Greg said, holding his hands out. "I'm still in the room. Can I be a part of the conversation?"

"Of course," Grissom stated. "What would you like to do?"

"I'd really like to go to my office and pretend this isn't happening to me."

Grissom indicated the door. Nick stepped aside, watching his friend leave with a heavy heart. He turned back to his boss.

"What are we going to do?" Nick asked, gripping the back of one of the office chairs anxiously.

Grissom shrugged. "It looks to me as if we're going to have to ride out this storm until the media loses interest or we find Robbie's murderer, whichever comes first."

* * *

Nick painfully watched his friend deteriorate over the next few days. At work, Greg simply had to enter a room to clear it out faster than someone screaming "fire." He sat alone in his office, typing up reports and following up on old cases, unable to take on any new cases or enter the field. No one stopped by to say hello, not even coworkers he'd known for years. No one asked for any help or any favors, fearing associating with the young man would smear their own reputation or discredit their own work. There were no invitations to late-night fast food runs or post-work breakfasts. Greg was, for all intents and purposes, exiled.

At home, he would just sleep. Even on his nights off, he'd spend them on the couch sleeping or watching television, but he never moved. In vain, Nick tried to get him to go out for dinner or drinks, but Greg always turned him down. There were no more marathon video game matches, no more drinking all night and talking on the balcony. Nick couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Greg's laugh. What was worse was that Greg had stopped cooking, forcing Nick to fend for himself, and he couldn't cook worth a shit. Takeout boxes began filling the kitchen garbage can, and while Nick would always grab something for his friend, Greg would hardly ever eat.

Nick came home from work one morning with bagels, hoping to get Greg to put something in his stomach. Greg hadn't worked that night, and Nick hated to leave him alone. He opened the door, catching sight of the young man sitting on the couch, the newspaper on the coffee table in front of him. He looked pale and gaunt, exhausted despite how much time he spent sleeping each day. Nick was really beginning to think that Greg's isolation might kill him, and that Nick would be the one to find him dead right there on the couch.

"Hey, Greggo," Nick greeted cheerily. "I got some breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," Greg murmured, changing the channel on the television.

"You can save it for later, but you better eat at some point today," Nick said, settling down on the other couch. He kicked off his shoes, putting his food on the table in front of him. "My sister's going to be in town next weekend."

"Which one?" Greg asked.

"Stephanie."

"You have like, a dozen siblings. Help me out here. Which one is Stephanie?"

Nick grinned. "The one that owns a furniture store in San Antonio. She just got married last year. Her and her husband are going to do the whole weekend in Vegas thing."

"Sounds like fun," Greg replied.

Nick grabbed a napkin off the coffee table, accidentally knocking off a couple pages of the newspaper in the process. He reached down to grab it, his eyes catching sight of an article. He looked at Greg, his mouth agape. He could see shame and anguish in Greg's eyes before the young man quickly looked away.

"Did you see this?" Nick asked. Greg only nodded, his eyes cast to the floor. The article detailed several incidents involving the LVPD's crime lab, specifically their night shift. It listed Nick's involvement with a murdered prostitute, Kristi Hopkins, and while Nick's name had been cleared, he had still been considered a suspect. What about Sara Sidle, who had been arrested while driving under the influence but not officially charged. She had also been suspended once for insubordination. Don't forget Catherine Willows, daughter of a mobster and mother to a troubled teenager. Now an assistant supervisor at the crime lab, she had once accepted dirty money to use in a ransom and had accidentally blown up a lab room. Recently deceased Warrick Brown, a gambler that had gotten a novice CSI killed under his supervision – or lack thereof. And Greg Sanders, a junior CSI that ran over and killed a suspect, now a person of interest in his room mate's murder. Grissom also didn't come out unscathed: listed as the night shift supervisor unable to keep his employees out of trouble – or danger. Kidnappings, shootings, explosions, murders. All under his watch. What did the sheriff have to say about all this? Wasn't he concerned that such delicate evidence was being handled by such irresponsible people?

Nick felt as if he might be sick. He looked at Greg, who sat there pointedly watching television, but Nick could see the tense expression on his face, watched his chest rise and fall with a quickened pace.

"Well?" Nick asked.

"Well what?" Greg snapped.

"Well, what are you going to do about this?" Nick shot back.

"I don't know," he replied, putting the remote down on the table. He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Ecklie wants me to go on a voluntary leave of absence."

"What?" Nick nearly yelled. "What did you tell him?"

"I haven't told him anything yet," Greg said. "He's giving me a few days to think about it."

"You aren't considering doing it, are you?"

"I don't know," he said, and then repeated, "He's giving me a few days to think about it."

"Greg, he's asking you to go on a voluntary leave because he doesn't have a legitimate reason to put you on an administrative leave," Nick stated. Greg remained quiet. "There's no reason for you to go on leave."

"I don't want any open cases to be affected by what's happening."

"What does that mean?" Nick inquired, confused.

"What if I get called to testify for something I've processed, and a lawyer starts asking the right questions, and all my evidence is discredited. What happens to the victim? I just...I wouldn't want anything like to happen."

"Who gave you that idea?" Nick asked, although he was pretty sure he knew the answer. "Are those your words, or somebody else's?"

"It doesn't matter," Greg said, shaking his head. "I don't want someone else to suffer because of me."

"What?" Nick cried, unable to believe what he was hearing. Did Greg really think that this was his fault? Nick was infuriated that Ecklie could suggest such a thing, especially to someone who had been a victim. "Don't let that asshole get into your head, man, you haven't – "

"It doesn't matter!" Greg exploded, startling the older man. "I'm tired, Nick! I'm tired of fighting!" Suddenly, he lost all steam, clenching his jaw as he looked away. Quietly, he said, "I'm tired of fighting. I'm just tired."

Nick felt angry and frustrated and so incredibly sad. There were only so many words of encouragement he could offer before they began to sound as hollow as they felt. He didn't know what to do anymore, but he knew he had to do something. He looked away, catching sight of his camping backpack in the corner of the room. Suddenly, he stood.

"Let's go," Nick said, visibly surprising Greg.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"We're getting out of here."

Greg hesitated for only a moment. "Okay."

* * *

Lake Mead was only 24 miles from the Las Vegas Strip, a large reservoir created by the Hoover Dam in the 1930s. Surrounded by vast wilderness, it was perfect for getting away from the rush of the city and getting lost in what was referred to as the backcountry. Nick had a 12-foot Jon Boat with a single motor they used to traverse the lake. It had been a while since he'd been out on the water, and it was nice to feel the wind against his face with the view of the mountains before him. Greg sat in the seat in front of him, glancing back and offering him a smile warmer than the sun, and that was a nice view too.

They approached a secluded spot on the shoreline that Nick often camped at when he wanted some solitude, and after years of escaping from everyday life here alone, he was excited to have someone to share it with. When they were almost to shore, Nick cut the engine and they jumped into the crisp water, pulling the boat the rest of the way. Once the boat was secure, they set up their campsite, and soon they were lying on a blanket on the shore looking up at the clear Nevada sky through a canopy of tree branches.

They were both on their backs with about a foot a space between them, but Nick could swear he could feel Greg's body heat searing him. He heard the young man sigh heavily, turned to see him close his eyes tightly, his expression pained.

"Are you okay?" Nick asked, and the minute the words left his lips he knew it was a stupid question.

"No."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

They sat in silence for a little while, before Greg asked, "Did you always like men?"

"You aren't my first, if that's what you're asking."

"Do you like men more than women?"

"Mostly."

"Why are you alone?" Greg asked, and then backtracked. "I don't mean it that way. I just mean...I've never seen you with someone for very long. What's wrong with you?"

"I..." Nick began, wondering how honest he should be – with Greg and with himself. He smiled at his friend, offering a sideways glance. Fuck it. "I tend to get too emotionally invested too soon, and I can sometimes be a little over possessive."

Greg burst into laughter. Maybe the answer had been more obvious than Nick had thought.

"You?" Greg asked. "You're kidding."

"Yeah, yeah," Nick chided, nudging Greg's side with his elbow. "So what's wrong with you? Why are you alone?"

"I tend to think with my brain and not my heart. I get too caught up in logistics and reason, I never seem to be able to take that leap of faith." The younger man shrugged. "I guess I just haven't found anyone that makes me want to think with my heart yet."

It was quiet again. The sun was beginning to drop in the sky. Nick startled as he felt Greg's hand brush against his, felt slender fingers slip into his palm.

"I'm sorry for all of this," Nick said.

"Me too," Greg responded, almost absently. "Robbie was my friend."

"I know."

"I went back for him because he was my friend and it was the right thing to do," Greg said, his voice wavering.

"I know."

"And because I tried to help him, and got my DNA on him, and fucked up the crime scene, I'm being punished." Greg's breath caught in his throat. Nick felt his hand gripping him tight. He began to cry, hot tears running down the sides of his face and into his hair. "Robbie was my friend. I couldn't leave him like that. How could I have left him like that?"

Nick touched the side of Greg's face, forcing him to face Nick. He could see the internal struggle in Greg's eyes, wondering if he had done the right thing. It angered Nick to imagine what kind of place were they living where a man had to question going back for a friend in a time of need. What kind of reality did they live in that someone was punished for being brave? What kind of reality did they live in that Greg had to wonder if he just should've run out the door? Greg was exactly the kind of man Nick wished he was. Maybe then he could've gone back for Warrick.

"Greg, this isn't your fault. None of this was your fault," Nick said, the words rushing out of him. "You did the right thing, and you're a better man than I am, and you don't deserve this."

"Then why is this happening to me?"

Nick pulled him close, wishing he had an answer for him. Instead, he did the only thing he could think of that would make Greg feel better: he kissed him, roughly and earnestly. Ran his fingers through his hair, tugging and pulling his head back, exposing his neck. Kissed there too, biting and nibbling, felt electric lightening shoot down his spine and straight to his groin as he heard Greg moan.

He pushed the younger man back into the ground, his heart racing, his mind asking him what the hell was he doing. How was this going to end? He didn't know. He just wanted to make his friend feel better. And it felt so good to taste Greg's salty skin. Felt so good to feel Greg's strong hands gripping his back, nails digging into his skin. Greg wanted him – he _needed_ him – and it thrilled Nick to be needed so urgently.

Nick blew him under the oranges, blues, and purples of the sunset. Greg looked stunning as he came, arching his back and moaning softly into the colorful Nevada sky.

* * *

They spent two more days out there, fishing and cooking over open fires and swimming in the lake, drinking beers and shooting whiskey, talking and laughing and arguing about conspiracy theories and the meaning of life. They shared Nick's tent at night, passing out together from their long days in a heap of arms and legs, but they didn't venture into any more sexual endeavors. That was okay with Nick. For now.

As they packed up their things, Nick told Greg they would have to come back here, maybe in a couple weeks after everything blew over at work. Greg nodded silently, but Nick could see something in his eyes that he couldn't quite read.

"You okay?" he asked, as they jumped onto the boat.

"Yeah," Greg replied. "Just...nervous about going back to work."

Nick touched his shoulder, smiling reassuringly. "Don't worry, man, you'll be fine. I got your back, Grissom's got your back, Catherine. Ecklie's just worried about keeping his job. More so about getting the sheriff's job when he's ready to retire in a couple years. Just stay cool, this will all go away soon."

* * *

The next night, they went into work together. Greg seemed calmer than usual. He seemed confident and almost aloof. Maybe their camping trip had been just what he had needed to reinvigorate and inspire his fighting spirit. Nick was relieved to think that maybe everything could go back to the way it used to be, that everything would be okay – for both Greg and himself.

Nick had to leave the crime lab when he was called into the field early, leaving Greg behind at the crime lab. He lost track of time, returning from a convenient store robbery after his shift should've already ended. He looked for Greg in the lockers, at the truck, in the break room. He wasn't answering his texts or phone calls.

"Hey, Gris, have you seen Greg?" Nick asked, poking his head into his supervisor's office. "Did he go out in the field?"

Grissom looked up from his paperwork, peering at him from over his glasses, his eyebrows raised. "Greg didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Nick asked, stepping further into the office. Grissom took a breath, opening his mouth as if to speak but he hesitated. "Tell me what, Grissom?"

"Greg handed in his resignation today," Grissom replied, leaning back in his chair and taking off his glasses. "Effective immediately."

Nick felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. Or stabbed in the back. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Nick," Grissom said. "I thought he would've told you."

"You didn't stop him?" Nick nearly yelled, gripping the back of one of the office chairs.

"Greg makes his own decisions," he responded. "And this one seems pretty well thought-out."

Nick bit his lip, bit back harsh words and accusations. Stared at his supervisor for a tense moment before picking up the chair a few inches and slamming it back into the ground. Grissom didn't even blink, and this made Nick even angrier.

"You should've tried to stop him," Nick said, pointing his finger at the older man.

"I did."

"You should've tried to help him."

To this, his boss said nothing.

* * *

"Greg!" Nick screamed, slamming his apartment door closed behind him. The young man peeked his head out from the kitchen, casually eating blueberries out of a plastic container. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm eating blueberries," he responded as if the answer were obvious, and indicated the stove with a smile. "I made pancakes."

"You know what I'm talking about," Nick snapped. "Why did you hand in your resignation?"

"I don't want to work there anymore." He handed Nick a plate. "I got some real maple syrup from the store. All you had was that fake stuff."

Nick slapped the plate violently out of Greg's hand, startling the younger man. It exploded against the floor loudly, sending pancakes and syrup and shards of ceramic everywhere.

"Do you know how long it took to make those?" Greg asked angrily. "The batter takes at least thirty minutes to set."

"Knock it off!" Nick yelled. "What are you doing, man?"

"I was trying to eat fucking breakfast."

Nick slammed his fist onto the counter top, utensils clattering in the drawer. "I'm not playing with you, Greg!"

"You're acting like an asshole," Greg stated.

"_You're_ an asshole!" Nick exclaimed. "Why didn't you fucking tell me? Instead I have to hear about it from Grissom and look like a fool? After everything I've done for you, you can't even tell me you're resigning?"

"Why should I have told you?" Greg asked. "So you could convince me not to?"

"You could've at least let me try!"

"Nick, I don't want to work there anymore," Greg yelled, his voice edged with frustration. "I don't want to be in this _city_ anymore."

"Where are you going to go?" Nick asked. Not only was Greg quitting the crime lab, he was leaving too? And he didn't think it was necessary to talk to Nick about any of this?

"Anywhere but here," Greg said. "Anywhere that nobody knows my name."

"What happens if we find Peter?" Nick offered desperately. "We could still find him. Don't you think you're jumping the gun?"

"What if we don't?" Greg asked. "What if we don't find him just like we haven't found millions of other suspects in millions of other unsolved cases. That doesn't even matter. I can't go back to that place after what they did to me."

"You should've stood up for yourself!" Nick exclaimed. "What happened to going down fighting? Do you know what this looks like, for you to hand in your resignation?"

"I don't care anymore!" Greg shouted. He looked so angry. He looked so hurt. "Nick, do you know what it's like to walk down the hallway and everybody's staring at you? Do you know what it's like to walk into a room and everybody goes quiet? I eat lunch in my office every day by myself so I can pretend that I want to be alone, when the fact of the matter is, nobody will fucking talk to me. I have given nearly fifteen years of my life to Las Vegas and for what? I don't have an apartment, I don't have a car, I don't have my reputation, and I certainly don't have any friends!"

Both men stood breathing heavily in the kitchen, jaws set, fists clenched, ready to fight. Nick didn't want to lose another friend, not so close after losing Warrick, and he certainly didn't want to fight the only friend he really had left. He felt the tension drain from him, and sat down heavily at one of the kitchen barstools.

"What about me?" Nick asked quietly.

"What about you?" Greg retorted, still heated.

"Are you just going to pretend that nothing happened between us?" Nick asked, hurt.

"Of course not."

"So – what? Then it doesn't mean anything to you?"

"Nick, are you really asking me to stay here over something that may or may not happen for us?" Greg asked. Nick was silent. Greg gave him a challenging stare. "Do you love me, Nick?"

Nick looked at Greg with surprise. The way the young man had asked, it was obvious Greg expected a certain answer. He expected Nick to say no, because of course Nick didn't love him, so why should Greg stay? There wasn't a logical reason for Greg to stay. Nick opened his mouth to respond, but he didn't have the words. He was supposed to say no, because he didn't love Greg, did he?

Did he?

"No," he replied, but he was unable to look at Greg as he said it.

"I don't love you either."

Greg sat down beside him, touching Nick's arm with a gentle hand.

"I still don't want you to go," Nick said.

"I don't want to go either," Greg said, "but I can't live like this anymore."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know. Maybe California."

"Do you think you'll be able to find something?" Nick asked.

"Ecklie..." Greg began, and sighed before continuing. "I told Ecklie I'd turn in my resignation if he'd give me a letter of recommendation. So...I think so."

"You really got him to do that?" Nick asked, eyebrows raised.

Greg shrugged. "I told him if he didn't I was going to continue working there and sue him for harassment and discrimination."

"Wow." Nick let out a low whistle. "You got some balls there, Greg."

"I didn't know if it would work," Greg admitted, grinning. "I was actually pretty terrified. Now can you please clean up this mess you made and I'll make you another plate?"

"Sure," Nick responded, but he wasn't sure how in God's name he was going to clean up this damn mess he'd made, and he certainly didn't mean the pancakes on the floor.

* * *

So they ate breakfast together, watching television and talking and laughing, and it was just like it'd always been. Nick knew Greg wanted to leave, but he still had time to convince him to stay. Maybe if he had enough time, Nick could convince himself to say what he really wanted to, as crazy as it felt. But he'd rather regret saying something foolish than regret never saying anything at all and wondering what could've been.

It was soon nearing noon, and Nick's eyelids were feeling heavy. He yawned deeply, stretching his arms out and arching his back, and could see Greg was half-asleep curled up beneath the Texas A&M blanket.

"I'm going to bed," Nick said. "I have to work tonight."

"Can..." Greg began hesitantly. He looked up at Nick from under dark eyelashes, a suggestive smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Can I come with you?"

"Well – yeah. Of course," he stammered, sitting up straighter.

Greg stood from the couch, offering his hand to Nick, who slipped hand into the younger man's and allowed himself to be led into his own bedroom. They crawled under the covers, laying down and facing one another wearing nothing but their underwear. Greg bit his bottom lip, smiling playfully as he traced his fingertips over the curves and planes of Nick's shoulder, down his arm, across his chest and over his stomach. Nick felt the younger man searing him with his touch, electricity arcing through him.

"Well?" Greg asked, snuggling closer. His lips were so close to Nick's, brushing against his lightly, but they were gone too soon. Nick felt a hand slip into his boxers.

"Well?" Nick responded back, leaning forward to kiss Greg, but Greg leaned back, teasing him.

"Tell me what you want," Greg said, his fingers finding Nick's erection, grasping him tight. "Tell me, Nicky."

"I want you," he replied, barely recognizing his own voice.

"Then take me."

He crashed his lips into Greg's, kissing him hard and deep, his hands on either side of Greg's face, pulling him closer. There was a tongue down his throat as Nick pushed Greg back into the mattress, climbing on top of him and straddling him. He felt Greg's hands grip at his buttocks, pulling Nick's hips into his, felt legs wrap around his waist. Felt the urgency in Greg's kiss, in his movements and his touch. Nick was quickly losing control, his mind spinning, but he wanted to slow down. He wanted to enjoy this.

He shifted his hand from the side of Greg's face to his throat, his thumb underneath Greg's chin, pushing his head back, elongating his neck. Greg desperately tried to continue kissing him, his lips searching for Nick's, but Nick held him there.

"Relax, Greg," Nick whispered into Greg's ear, before gently trailing his tongue down his neck. He felt Greg protest, and applied just enough pressure to Greg's neck to calm him. Heard Greg's breath catch, felt Greg's pulse quicken beneath his fingertips. "Relax. We got all day."

Nick looked into Greg's eyes, watched them narrow with uncertainty and a hint of distaste. He lunged forward, but Nick held him down. "Nah uh," Nick said, wagging his finger. He touched Greg's lips, thrilled when a warm tongue darted against his fingertip. Nick grinned, his lips finding Greg's exposed neck, his teeth scraping against delicate skin.

"All day," Nick murmured.

There were no rushed sexual endeavors. No urgent, desperate acts spawned from emotional need. Just the two of them, in Nick's bed, exploring each other's bodies. Nick let his mind go. He let go of the anger and the hurt. He let go of shitty detectives and reporters. He let go of the department's betrayal. He let go of Greg leaving him. He let go of thinking that he would soon have to be in his apartment, alone, eating takeout and talking to his television. He was just here, now, with Greg.

The young man was beneath him, facing him. Nick slowly, gently fucked Greg, and he swore he'd screw him right through the mattress. They were moving together, sweating, breathing heavy. Nick could feel Greg's body tensing, could see his eyes closing, his back arching. The young man's hands were gripping the ends of the pillow beneath his head.

"Greg," he breathed, feeling an intense warmth building in his gut. The younger man opened his eyes, looking up into Nick's, and he suddenly seemed...different. Of course he was handsome, Nick had always thought he was attractive, but right in this moment he was more than that, and Nick felt his chest swell with something greater than desire.

Suddenly, Greg slipped his hands on either side of Nick's face, pulling him into a deep and passionate kiss, moaning into Nick's mouth as he came. Nick gripped the headboard, his own orgasm overtaking him, and he wasn't sure how he would ever be the same.

* * *

Nick's alarm clock buzzed loudly on the nightstand only a few hours later. He slammed his hand down on top of it, lying still for a moment, a smile playing on his lips as he recalled his day spent with Greg. He touched the bed next to him, but it was empty. Had Greg really gone to sleep on the couch after earlier today? Curiously, he got up and opened the bedroom door. The apartment was silent and dark. No.

No, no, no, no, no.

He stepped down the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest. The couch was empty. The blanket was folded neatly on the arm. Nick looked to the corner of the room. Greg's suitcase was gone.

"Fuck," Nick said, rubbing his face wearily with one hand, the other on his hip. He sat down on the couch. Pulled the blanket into his lap. Leaned forward and pressed it against his face in the dark and breathed in Greg's scent. His face touched paper. There was a sticky note attached to it.

_Thanks for everything._

– _G._

Nick crumpled the note in his hand, tossing it across the room. He leaned his head back and sighed. He was supposed to have more time than this. He was supposed to have more time.

Fuck.

* * *

To be continued.


	2. Chapter 2

Nick was miserable.

His new life was lonely. There was no one to come home to. No one to make him breakfast or dinner. No one to pack him leftovers for his lunch. No one to do his laundry or make his bed. He couldn't even remember the days the garbage was supposed to go out. He wondered how he'd ever lived before, because he was certain he couldn't live like this much longer now.

Greg was gone. Out of his life and not returning his phone calls or text messages or e-mails. He was bitterly reminded every time he went to work and the man wasn't there. Every time someone asked how he was doing or what he was up to. As if Greg would've told the person that seemed closest to him.

"So..." Catherine had said, walking into Nick's office and sitting down in one of the visitor's chairs the day after Greg had resigned. The day after he'd left Nick's apartment without a word. "Life without Greg, huh?"

"Yeah," Nick responded, pointedly concentrating on typing up a report.

"What's he doing now?"

"I don't know."

"Does he have anything lined up?" Catherine asked, curiously.

"I don't know."

"He doesn't have a plan or anything?"

"I. Don't. Know." Nick said, his eyes meeting hers with irritation. "He didn't even tell me he was leaving."

"Oh," she said, hardly able to hide the surprise in her voice. "I figured he would've said something to you."

"Me too."

Catherine sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with delicate fingers. "The department really did a number on him, huh?"

"I did everything _I_ could," Nick stated harshly, his gaze returning to his computer screen.

"Ouch."

"Catherine, I have a lot of work to do," he said, not giving her a chance to defend herself. He didn't want to hear it. Saw her stunned expression out of the corner of his eye, but he wouldn't look directly at her.

"Your message has been received loud and clear," she said, scoffing and shaking her head in disbelief before she left.

Nick flinched as the door slammed, pausing only briefly before continuing his work.

* * *

Months went by. There was a new CSI hire named Riley Adams that seemed to be getting along well, but Nick didn't really like her. It didn't have so much to do with her personality as it had to do with the fact that she was here and Greg was not, and her presence reminded Nick of that fact each day he worked beside her. He was pretty sure she could sense his disdain for her, but she never said anything directly to him. She did, however, say something to Catherine.

"Nicky, I need you to start playing nice with Riley," Catherine said one day, sitting on the corner of his desk in his office.

"I don't have a problem with her," he stated, scrolling through his e-mails.

"She thinks you don't like her."

"You don't have to like the people you work with," he responded, leaning back in his chair and looking up at her.

Catherine narrowed her eyes. "Are we still talking about Riley?"

Nick sighed. "I'll make more of an effort to be pleasant."

"Nick," Catherine began, fidgeting with a letter opener. "It's been a rough year, and I understand that. But it's just you and me now, okay? We need to stick together."

Just him and Catherine, because Grissom was also gone now, having retired from crime lab. The strain of losing Sara, Warrick, and then Greg was too much for him, and Nick could see it eating away at his supervisor each night. Nick understood. The loneliness that came with losing all of your friends and the person you cared about most was something he felt slowly ebbing away his resolve too. How was someone supposed to get any satisfaction out of their work if there was nothing to come home to except an empty apartment?

He was also pretty sure Grissom felt like a failure to everyone that had ever meant something to him. Nick could relate to that too. And he thought often about those harsh words he'd exchanged with his mentor after Greg's resignation, which he knew hadn't helped. Just another regret Nick could add to his repertoire.

"I'm sorry, Catherine," Nick said, breaking away from his thoughts. "I'm just getting used to all the changes around here."

"If you need someone to talk to," Catherine said with gentle eyes, "you know I'm here for you, right?"

"Thanks," Nick said, offering her a tight smile. She didn't seem entirely satisfied, but it was enough for her to leave him alone.

* * *

Nick was in the break room making himself coffee when Ecklie appeared in the doorway. Immediately, Nick felt himself tense up, and pretended to focus on stirring his coffee while ignoring the undersheriff. Nick may have accepted the position for the night shift assistant supervisor to advance his career, but he still felt like a sellout. What would Greg think to know that Nick was now indebted to the man who had betrayed him?

"Nick," Ecklie said, stepping into the room. "I need you to go to a recruitment conference."

"What?" Nick asked, looking at the older man dubiously.

"Grissom signed up months ago, and now he's gone and I need you to do it," he responded. "I can't send Catherine. She doesn't have anyone to watch Lindsey."

"And if I don't want to?"

"Consider it a personal favor to me, and I'll owe you one."

Nick scoffed. "I don't think I'm in the business of doing you any favors."

"Really?" Ecklie asked smugly. "I'm pretty sure as the night shift assistant supervisor, you're obligated to rub elbows with upper management once in a while. If you're not willing to do that, I can find plenty of people who are. And if I recall correctly, there's a recently vacant position on your team that you might be perfect for."

Nick took a step back, created space between himself and the undersheriff. Only because he swore if the man were too close, Nick might reach out and knock him square in the jaw, effectively ridding him of that smug smile. Effectively ridding Nick of a job.

"What do I have to do?" Nick asked, keeping his voice even in an attempt to hide his disgust for both Ecklie and himself.

"Give a couple lectures on how great it is to be a CSI," Ecklie replied. "Go through some applications and transcripts, see who might be a good fit for us."

"Sounds easy enough," Nick said. "Where is it?"

"UCLA."

Nick's heart stopped.

"UCLA?" he asked. "In Los Angeles? California?"

Ecklie frowned. "That's what it stands for, so, yes. That's where it is."

"Right," Nick stammered. "Yeah, okay. When am I leaving?"

"In two weeks. So get ready."

Get ready. Ready to be in the same city as Greg. What did Nick say about this sounding easy?

* * *

Two weeks. Two weeks until he'd be in L.A., in the same place that Greg was, for the first time in months. He couldn't stop thinking about it, and with each passing day he became more anxious. He hadn't spoken to the young man since the day he'd left, but he knew where he was. Nick worked for the police department after all, so it had been easy enough to keep tabs on him. He had his address, registered vehicle, place of employment...which wasn't stalkerish at all, Nick thought disdainfully.

Maybe he should call him. Nick considered it constantly. He would stare at the phone on his desk, his eyes drifting to it throughout the day, every day. It just sat there, taunting him, and several times Nick had picked up the receiver but he always hung up before dialing. What if Greg didn't pick up, like all the other times Nick had tried to call him?

That had been months ago. Maybe now that the dust had settled, now that the wounds weren't so fresh, Greg would be more open to answering the phone. But what if he didn't?

"Just do it, you idiot," Nick said out loud to himself, picking up the phone and punching in Greg's phone number. There was a brief pause before a service message picked up. Disconnected. Greg's phone was disconnected. Nick slammed the receiver down, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

Well, that answered that. Greg was really done with Las Vegas, with his old life – with Nick. He wasn't sure why the young man had left without a word, or why he refused to answer Nick's calls, but he knew that it hurt. He bitterly hoped Greg was hurting too.

* * *

It was the night before Nick was due to leave for his conference, and he was particularly on edge. He was tired of feeling trapped inside of his apartment, so he went out to one of the bars he frequented in an attempt to escape his own head. It was a slow Monday night, not too busy as he sat down at the counter, signaling for the bartender to give him one of his usual, and he was grateful to turn his mind off and pretend to be sociable for a while.

After a few drinks and watching college football on the television, Nick recognized a voice at the end of the bar. An unmistakable New York accident ordering another drink, and Nick wondered how long the detective had been there and whether or not he had noticed Nick.

Nick set his jaw, staring straight ahead and gathering his composure before turning to look at Gibson with contempt in his gaze. Their eyes met. The young man seemed caught off guard, his expression displaying his surprise to see the CSI. Nick stood immediately, his stool scraping loudly against the floor as he fluidly crossed the bar. Gibson stood as well, standing up straighter to appear taller, ready to fight as Nick approached him. Nick was ready to fight too, and it took every fiber of his being not to take a vicious swing.

"You and I need to talk," Nick said through gritted teeth. His body was tense, his fists clenched. But not here. He couldn't do it here. "Outside."

"I don't have anything to talk about with you," Gibson said, his speech slurred, and Nick wondered how much he'd had to drink.

"I have a lot to talk about with you," Nick stated. "Let's go."

"What, are you going to fight me?" Gibson asked.

"I might."

"I'm not going outside with you."

"Are you afraid?" Nick asked, scowling, before looking the other man up and down. "I thought you were a man."

"Same could be said for you," Gibson responded, sneering.

Nick felt his blood boiling. He stepped impossibly close to the detective, pressing a finger into Gibson's chest. "You. Me. Outside. Now."

Nick turned, storming out of the bar and into the parking lot. He was surprised to see Gibson follow him. They stood there on the sidewalk, only a few feet apart, both men ready for a confrontation, but suddenly Nick didn't know what to say. He was so angry, he just wanted to scream, but he couldn't find the words to express exactly how he felt. He really just wanted to beat the snot out of the man standing before him, and while he wasn't sure how effective at communication that would be, he was sure it would make him feel better.

"So, what?" Gibson began. "You want to fight me because your boyfriend got fired?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Nick stated. "And he didn't get fired."

"Same shit," Gibson said, before taking a sip from the rock glass he'd brought outside. "You think my life is a ball of sunshine? I got fucked too."

"Really? How's what?" Nick asked, curious.

"I didn't know she was going to fucking run her mouth and write those articles, okay?" Gibson spat, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "It was a surprise to me too."

"She's a reporter," Nick said, as if it should've been obvious.

"She was my girlfriend," Gibson shot back. He sat down on the ledge of a brick garden wall. "I didn't know when I came home from work I was talking to a reporter for the Las Vegas Times. I thought I was talking to my girlfriend. Now I go to work and everybody knows I'm the rookie detective that don't know how to keep my mouth shut. I get shitty cases, my credibility is ruined, and I blew any chances I had of going anywhere in this fucking city because of that bitch. Look, I'm sorry your _friend_ lost his job, but sometimes I wish I'd lost mine too."

Nick remained quiet, the tension quickly draining from him. Gibson held out his glass to Nick as a peace offering while taking a long drag off of his cigarette. Nick narrowed his eyes, hesitating briefly before accepting the glass. He took a sip, tasted whiskey, and sat down beside the detective.

"What are you going to do now?" Nick asked.

"I don't know," Gibson said. "How's your friend?"

"I don't know," Nick replied. And they sat there in silence, sharing a drink called misery.

* * *

The small charter plane Nick had traveled in touched down mid-morning, and Nick was not used to being up during the day. Tiredly (and perhaps a little hungover after drinking with Tom Gibson all night), he got his rental car and drove to his hotel room, and found himself with a few hours of spare time before he had to appear at a dinner for the recruitment conference. He supposed he could catch up on some sleep, but then he was afraid he'd be up all night. Deciding to ride out his tiredness and wait until tonight to get some rest, Nick stood at his hotel room window, staring out over the buildings of the city.

Somewhere, in one of those buildings, was his friend. Well, perhaps "friend," was a strong word these days, but a few months ago, it wouldn't have been strong enough to describe what was happening between them. Nick could have never imagined that now, after all they'd been through, he would be standing here in the same city as Greg, so close but so far.

Nick knew where he lived. Maybe he should go there. And then what? Knock on the door and get no answer, just like Greg didn't answer any of Nick's calls? Perhaps he should go to where Greg worked, if he really wanted an explanation. There was a large children's genetics hospital just a few miles away, and while Nick didn't know Greg's position there, he knew that's where he was. Maybe he should go there instead. At least face to face, maybe then Greg would talk to him. What's the worst that could happen? Public humiliation?

Nick sighed, leaning his head against the cool glass window. He should just leave Greg alone, and get on with his life. Greg had obviously already done that, maybe it was time for Nick to start as well.

But he couldn't help but wonder...when would he get this opportunity again?

Nick never mustered up the courage to get into his rental car and drive to that genetics hospital and tell Greg exactly what he thought. Instead, he watched television, ordered some room service, and went to that pretentious dinner at UCLA where he pretended to be pleasant and that being a CSI was the greatest thing since sliced bread.

But his mind was elsewhere. His mind was on what could've been if he'd just had the gall to tell Greg how he'd felt before Greg had left Las Vegas. The last day they'd spent together was something Nick had never experienced with another person. And now he was going to sit here, two miles away from the younger man, and not tell Greg how he felt again. God, he was such a coward, and he hated himself for it.

The next day, he went to a breakfast at the university, and had time to kill before delivering a lecture at two in the afternoon. He supposed he should be perusing through applications and transcripts, but his heart wasn't in it. He could always do it on the plane ride home. So he sat in his hotel room again, day two of his five day trip, and changed the television channels while drinking beer at eleven in the morning.

He looked at his car keys on the dresser. Was buzzed just enough to have the confidence (or recklessness) to get out of bed, snatch them off the tacky pressed wood and get the hell out of there.

* * *

He sat in the parking lot of the Los Angeles Children's Hospital for about twenty minutes, his heart pounding in his chest. Sitting low in his seat, he kept looking in the rearview and sideview mirrors, keeping an eye out for Greg, but he never caught sight of him. He took a swig of beer from the bottle in his cup holder, wondering just what Ecklie would think if he were to be arrested for a DUI while on a "personal favor" in Los Angeles, and wondered what the fuck was he doing, exactly.

He was pathetic. Hiding in his car in a parking lot of the hospital that an old lover worked at, waiting to confront him like a scorned school girl, an open container beside him and a fog of alcohol in his brain. God, he was so sad, and he really needed to get a life.

With a sigh, he turned over the engine, hesitantly leaving the parking lot, watching the building diminish in the rearview mirror as he drove away.

* * *

That night, Nick sat at the hotel bar, nursing a beer and watching more television. Pretending once again that he was a normal guy on a business trip with nothing better to do with his time. He didn't have anything to do, nobody to see. Just lectures and dinners and breakfasts with eager students ready to solve crimes, naively believing they were going to save the world. Just ask Sara. Just ask Warrick. Just ask Greg. They'd be happy to tell them how great being a CSI was and how much of a difference they'd made in the world. Except for maybe Warrick, but he wasn't really saying much of anything these days.

Nick felt like an imposter. He was a silver-tongued salesman offering a thrilling life in an exotic city, but it was all a sham. There was nothing in Las Vegas. Only hurt and betrayal and disappointment.

After several drinks, Nick closed his tab and headed upstairs to his empty hotel room. The lights of the city sparkled outside of his window, but it wasn't the view he was looking for. He laid down in bed, closing his eyes, imagining Greg's lithe body beneath him. Imagined those slender fingers wrapped around his throbbing erection, imagined that mouth and those piercing eyes telling him nothing and everything at the same time. Grasped himself between his legs and jerked off, but it wasn't what he wanted. He wanted Greg. And he promised himself he would find him, even if it meant disappointment. Because then at least he would know the answer to that age old question: What if?

* * *

It took thirty minutes before Nick found the courage to leave his car, stepping slowly and hesitantly into the lobby of the children's hospital. He kept his eyes peeled for Greg, his heart stopped in his chest, his breath caught in his throat. Made his way to the information desk to meet a young and chipper redheaded woman with a bright smile and a nametag that read "Sherri."

"Can I help you?" she chirped.

"I'm looking for Greg Sanders," Nick said, his voice cracking in a falsetto alto. He quickly cleared his throat.

"Is he expecting you?"

"No."

"Are you a patient's parent?" she asked.

"No."

"A rep?"

"No."

She giggled, her cheeriness almost sickening. "Help me out here."

"I'm Nick Stokes," Nick responded, his eyes darting from person to person walking in and out. "We used to work together in Las Vegas."

"Our Greg?" she asked, as if it were scandalous. "From Las Vegas? How exciting."

"Yeah," Nick said absently, his heart ready to explode. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand here before he literally had a heart attack. "We worked at the crime lab in downtown."

"He's in the lab here too!" she exclaimed. "Probably not doing work nearly as thrilling as solving crimes, but we appreciate him just the same. Take the elevator down one floor, turn right and he's all the way down the hall on the left side."

"Thanks," Nick said, and as he left the front desk, he briefly wondered how heartbreaking it would be for Sherri to learn just how little Greg had been appreciated in Las Vegas.

He took the elevator down one floor, all the way down the hall and to the left. There was a large lab room that had an entrance in the back and front, windows lining the walls and offering a view from the hallway. Nick approached cautiously, peering around a corner, and he saw him. He was standing in front of a computer wearing a lab coat, his brow knitted as he typed away furiously, buried in paperwork and the phone was ringing and he looked...stunning.

Fuck. Nick wanted to be angrier. But he could only see how handsome Greg was, could only feel a longing in his chest he didn't realize was so deep until right this moment.

A woman walked in. Briefly asked Greg for some test results. She was pretty and Greg smiled at her and Nick was instantly jealous. She left quickly afterward, and Greg was once again alone. Nick kept telling himself to walk in. Go inside. Enter the doorway. But he was frozen, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to think. What was he doing?

A man walked in. A handsome blond wearing scrubs. And Greg's body language changed. He stood up straighter, his eyes following the man as he entered the room and stood on the other side of the counter Greg was standing at. Greg was pretending not to notice him, but Nick could see the smirk tugging at the corner of Greg's lips.

"Dr. Levi," Greg said, his eyes focused on the computer.

"Greg," the doctor responded, leaning casually against the counter. "I have a question for you."

"All right."

"I'm going to Lake Tahoe this weekend," he said. "Are you working?"

"No."

"You should come with me."

"What's in Lake Tahoe?"

"I have a boat."

"You would have a boat, you rich asshole," Greg said, tossing a glance at the handsome doctor.

"Come with me," he insisted.

"I don't like the water," Greg replied, but Nick knew that wasn't true.

"You can stay on the boat," Dr. Levi offered. "Get some sun."

"I burn easily," Greg said, but that wasn't true either.

"I'll bring lots of sunscreen," Dr. Levi said. "I'll make sure you get it in all those hard to reach places."

Greg allowed himself to smile, biting his bottom lip and shaking his head. "I don't have time for you right now, Devon."

Nick panicked, breathing heavy as he stood in the hallway. It was now or never, and he certainly wasn't going to let this handsome, rich blond doctor sweep in and take what Nick felt belonged to him. He entered the doorway, knocking on the frame and pretending to appear casual although he was pretty sure he was going into cardiac arrest. At least he was already in a hospital should he require medical intervention.

Greg tore his eyes away from Dr. Levi, spotting Nick in the doorway with a double-take. His expression changed dramatically, his smile disappearing quickly and replaced with surprise. He stepped back from the counter and stood there for a moment, shocked.

"Nick?" Greg breathed.

"Greg."

"What are you doing here?" Greg asked, eyes wide.

"I'm in town for a conference," Nick replied. "I would've called you, but – you know."

Greg looked away, clearing his throat, his cheeks flushing with crimson. He glanced at Dr. Levi, as if he'd forgotten he was in the room.

"Nick, this is Dr. Levi," Greg said, indicating the handsome young man. "Dr. Levi, this is Nick. He's...an old colleague from Las Vegas. We used to work together."

"Please, call me Devon," the doctor replied, reaching out to shake Nick's hand. Dr. Levi seemed uncomfortable, sensing tension between the two "old colleagues," as Greg had called them. "I, uh...have to get to some patients. Nice to meet you, Nick."

"You too," Nick responded, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Greg," Dr. Levi said, nodding at the young man. He turned and pointed with both hands as he left the room. "Think about what I said."

And then they were alone. Nick watched Greg carefully, but Greg wouldn't look at him. He just stood there, hands in his lab coat pockets, breathing rapidly. He appeared as if he wanted to say something, but he couldn't seem to find the words. Finally, the younger man said, "How long are you here?"

"Two more nights."

"Are you...I mean...if you aren't...too busy..." Greg stammered, before looking up at Nick from beneath dark eyelashes. "Or too mad...do you have time to grab some dinner? Or a drink? Or...you know...whatever?"

"I'll have to check my schedule," Nick replied, setting his jaw. "I can call you and get back to you, but I'm not sure if you'll pick up the phone."

Greg looked away, his eyes cast anywhere but at Nick. He looked hurt. And Nick suddenly felt guilty for the cheap shot. Then angry that despite everything Greg had done to hurt him, the young man could still manage to pull at Nick's heart strings and make him feel guilty for a well-deserved remark. God, he really was pathetic.

"What time are you done working?" Nick asked.

"Five," Greg replied quickly, the glimmer of hope in his eyes and his voice absolutely adorable.

"I have a dinner engagement until seven."

"Where are you staying?"

"The Hyatt."

"I'll pick you up."

"Eight," Nick said.

"I'll be there."

"You better be," Nick threatened, and Greg nodded enthusiastically.

Nick turned, leaving the lab and stepping into the hallway, turning the corner and leaning against the wall, closing his eyes. A breath he didn't know he'd been holding exploded from him, his hands shaking. What was he doing? What was he hoping to get out of this? Did he really want to know the answers to all of his questions? Did he really want to know what if? He began to second guess himself, wondering if this was such a good idea.

Carefully, he peeked back around the corner. Greg was still standing there, wringing his hands, looking almost bewildered. The former CSI leaned forward, his elbows on the counter as he pressed his fingers into his eyes and rubbed them wearily. Suddenly, Dr. Levi returned to the room, and Nick couldn't help but scowl.

"What was that about?" Dr. Levi asked, startling Greg visibly.

"Nothing," Greg replied hastily. "Just...I just haven't seen him in a long time. I guess I thought I'd never really see him again."

"He's who again?"

"Nick," Greg said. "We used to work together in Las Vegas."

"Just an 'old colleague,' huh?" the doctor asked casually, his expression showing his amusement.

"I don't know, to be honest with you," Greg responded, and sighed. He sat down heavily in a tall counter height chair, picking up a pen and fidgeting with it nervously.

"He's welcome to come on the boat with us," Dr. Levi said, a suggestive smirk on his face.

Greg pushed the doctor's shoulder, playfully shoving him away. "Get out of here, Devon. I need to get back to work."

Nick seethed as he turned and walked away, wishing it was as easy for him as it appeared to be for Greg to move on and leave his old life behind.

* * *

Dinner dragged along agonizingly slow. Every five minutes Nick would look at his watch, wondering if he was stuck in some sort of time-space vortex where time stood still. It was approaching seven, and he was still stuck saying his goodbyes and answering the same inane questions everybody always asked. _"What's it like being a CSI?" "Is it dangerous?" "Did you ever get sick at a crime scene?" "Have you ever shot anybody?" _He wanted to scream. Didn't they know he had somewhere to be? Someone to see? He didn't have time for this! Look it up on the fucking internet, for God's sake!

Finally, mercifully, Nick was able to tear himself away and run upstairs to his hotel room. It was a little later than he thought it would be, and he showered quickly before rushing through his things to find something to wear. He hadn't really brought any clothes to go out on the town in, but he didn't really think he'd need any. None of his shirts seemed to look as good as Nick wanted them to, and his hair wasn't quite cooperating with him, and he laughed at himself as he stood in front of the mirror.

_Relax. _He was a grown man, not a teenager getting ready for a first date. He needed to relax. He wanted Greg to think he was calm and cool, not a heartbroken fool embarking on a last ditch effort at some closure.

He took the elevator to the lobby, suddenly wondering if Greg would even show up. He hadn't really considered it until right this moment, and he began to panic in the claustrophobic elevator at the thought. He hadn't answered any of Nick's phone calls. Hadn't replied to any texts or e-mails. Hadn't even said goodbye. He obviously didn't think Nick was important enough to warrant any of those courtesies, what made Nick think Greg considered him important enough now to show up as planned?

The elevator stopped, along with Nick's heart. The doors opened on the ground floor. Nick stepped out into the lobby with bated breath. And there Greg was, sitting in an oversized armchair, nervously bouncing his knees and chewing on his lip. He was wearing a dark blazer and a button down shirt, slim jeans, and he looked so handsome it nearly stole Nick's breath from him.

Calm and cool, Nick thought to himself. Stay calm and stay cool.

The younger man looked up, catching sight of Nick and meeting his eyes. He stood, smiling disarmingly, and goddamn if Nick wasn't all his.

"Nick," Greg said, keeping his smile.

"Greg," Nick said, calm. Cool.

"Ready?" Greg asked, the glint in his eye almost mischievous.

Nick nodded, but if he were to be honest, he wasn't entirely sure just how ready he was for all of this.

* * *

They were inside of a bar, loud music playing around them, a crowd of happy people surrounding them. They were sitting on an old couch with drinks on the small cocktail table in front of them, and Greg seemed to be right in his element. Nodding along to the music, smiling at patrons passing by. So casual, so collected. Everything Nick wished he was, but he was dying on the inside and wondered how well he was hiding it on the outside.

"So what do you do at this lab?" Nick asked, leaning closer and nearly yelling over the music.

Greg shrugged. "Genetic testing, DNA sequencing, stuff like that. I'm in charge of the lab, so mostly I do a lot of paperwork and make nice with the doctors."

Like Dr. Levi, Nick thought sourly, but instead said, "Sounds exciting."

"You would think so, but it's actually kind of boring," Greg conceded, and then seemed more enthused. "I'm publishing a study with a bunch of other doctors. That's kind of more fun. Or interesting." Greg paused briefly, reconsidering his words. "Actually it's neither of those things."

"What is it about?"

"You know...DNA stuff."

"You think I won't understand," Nick stated, offended. "I'm smarter than I look, you know."

Greg hesitated. "The identification of novel cluster groups in pediatric high-risk B-precursor acute lymphoblastic leukemia using gene expression profiling. I'm performing gene expression profiling on about 207 samples and correlating them with genome-wide DNA copy number abnormalities."

Nick shifted in his seat. "So...DNA stuff, is what you're saying."

Greg laughed, and it was wonderful. "Yeah, that. So how's CSI?"

"Fine," Nick replied, but he didn't look at Greg as he said it. "Grissom left."

"Really?" Greg asked, surprised. "I didn't think he'd ever leave."

"After Sara, Warrick, then you," Nick said, "I think it was too much for him to take."

Greg was quiet for a moment. Nick could see remorse and a little guilt in his face. Wanted to touch Greg's arm and say something comforting, but that wasn't who Nick was to Greg anymore. They were just old colleagues catching up and exchanging pleasantries and pretending nothing had ever happened between them.

"Who's in charge now? Catherine?" Greg asked, and Nick nodded. "Who's the assistant supervisor?"

"You're looking at him."

Greg smiled, looking genuinely happy to hear that. "Wow! Congratulations. How's that going for you?"

Without Greg, it was difficult. It was lonely. It was not nearly as fulfilling as it should've been.

Nick shrugged, smiling tightly. "It's good."

They shared more drinks. Talked about anything and everything. Laughed as they got buzzed, moving closer to each other on the small couch they were sharing, and it was just like it used to be. And then Greg was chewing on the end of a cocktail straw he was holding, his pink tongue darting out from between his teeth as he touched Nick's knee with slender fingers and laughed about something he was saying, and Nick couldn't believe the arc of electricity that shot through him. It made him almost angry to believe all Greg had to was buy him a drink and charm him with jokes and touch him flirtatiously, and Nick would just forget about the pain he'd felt over the last few months.

Nick wasn't this pathetic, he knew that much. He wanted Greg to know how much the young man had hurt him. Wanted him to feel that same hurt. He felt himself tensing up, suddenly agitated.

"So what's up with this Devon guy?" Nick asked, was just drunk enough to, but he wasn't sure why he was asking yet.

"Devon?" Greg asked, confused. "Devon from the hospital?"

"Yeah," Nick replied. "He seems to be pretty into you."

"I guess," Greg said hesitantly.

"Are you interested in him?"

Greg pulled his hand away, smiling quizzically. "Why are you asking?"

"I'm just curious," Nick deadpanned, shrugging casually, but his stare was intense. Greg looked away, unamused as he took a sip of his drink. Nick persisted. "Well?"

"I don't think I'm comfortable having this conversation with you."

"Why not?" Nick asked, sitting up straighter. "Have you fucked him?"

"What?" Greg exclaimed, eyes wide, incredulous.

"Have you fucked him?" Nick repeated combatively, leaning closer to Greg.

"I don't think that's any of your business," Greg retorted, leaning back.

"So you have fucked him."

"Why are you being this way?" Greg asked, his face contorted with disgust. "You aren't my boyfriend, Nick."

"You're right," Nick seethed. "I'm not your boyfriend. You made that pretty clear when you left that you weren't remotely interested in anything like that. This was a bad idea."

Abruptly, Nick stood from the couch, listening to Greg call his name as he walked out of the loud bar and onto the sidewalk. He didn't know where he was or how to get back to his hotel or the number for a cab service, but he didn't care. He walked down the sidewalk quickly and with a purpose: To get away from Greg Sanders once and for all.

"Nick!" Greg yelled, following him down the street. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going back to my hotel."

"Can we talk about this?" Greg pleaded.

"Go home, Greg," Nick said, waving away the younger man.

"At least let me drive you back to your room."

"Why?" Nick shot, turning to face Greg. The younger man was closer than Nick had thought, and he nearly knocked into Nick as they stopped walking. "If you want to get fucked you can call Devon. I'm sure he'd be happy to do the job."

Greg staggered back in surprise, the expression of hurt and shame on his face nearly unbearable. That was what Nick wanted, wasn't it? To hurt Greg just like Greg had hurt him? As Nick turned and continued walking, leaving Greg behind, Nick wondered when he would start feeling satisfied.

* * *

Nick's last day in Los Angeles was spent at UCLA interviewing students, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't help but wonder what could've happened if the night had ended differently. Wondered what he had expected out of all of this. Some kind of closure? What the fuck had he been thinking?

He should've never went to the hospital to find Greg. He should've never went out with him last night. He should've never acted like such an ass or said such terribly hurtful things. He could only remember the look on Greg's face as he walked away, and now that was the last thing he'd ever remember about his friend. That was the last thing his friend would ever remember about him.

His friend. All this time he'd been mad at Greg for being such a shitty friend, and here he was, turning his back on Greg just like the rest of Las Vegas. God, he was such an idiot, and he deserved to be alone.

* * *

"We got him."

Nick was in the break room eating cereal when Catherine stuck her head in the doorway, holding a case file. It had been two months since Nick's trip to UCLA, and things were finally returning to some kind of normalcy. He and Catherine had gotten comfortable working together, and there was a new level 1 CSI named Ray Langston that seemed to be catching on quickly.

There were even some days that Nick didn't think about Greg, or the hurtful things Nick had said to him.

"Got who?" Nick asked around a mouthful of cereal, barely glancing up from the newspaper in front of him.

"Peter Moss," she responded, tossing a case file on top of the newspaper.

"Who is that?"

"Greg's attacker. Robbie's murderer."

Nick looked at Catherine in surprise before loudly dropping his bowl onto the table and eagerly snatching up the file. Clipped to the top of the first page was a booking photo of a young and handsome dark-haired man. The same man that had taken Robbie's life – and Greg's too, just in a different way.

"What happened?" Nick asked, his eyes quickly absorbing the information in the file.

"He was accused of drugging and raping a male college student at UNLV," she responded, sitting down heavily next to Nick. "His DNA matched an unknown from Robbie's case."

"I didn't know there'd been any unknown DNA," Nick mused distractedly. "What happens now?"

"He's officially booked for Robbie's murder," she stated, shrugging. "So now...we wait."

* * *

A yawn escaped from Nick as he sat inside of his office, tiredly typing up a report. It was four in the afternoon, when Nick should've still been sleeping, and his body was protesting the change in schedule. But, just like Ecklie had told him months earlier, as the night shift assistant supervisor he was obligated to rub elbows with upper management once in a while, and that meant accepting a swing shift while their supervisor was out of town.

Nick looked up from his computer as he heard a commotion from down the hallway. Saw Greg Sanders walking down the hall, Wendy and Henry swarming around him and talking excitedly, happy to see him. Nick followed him with his eyes, his mouth agape, and then the young man was out of sight. Nick had forgotten to breathe and suddenly his breath exploded from him as he leaned back in his chair, shell shocked.

What was he doing here? Did it have to do with Peter? Why wouldn't he have called Nick and told him he was coming? Oh, yeah, Nick thought disdainfully. It might have something to do with Nick being a royal ass the last time they'd seen each other.

"Nick?" he heard from the door to his left. Riley Adams, holding a file folder. "Can I have your signature on something?"

"Sure," Nick responded hastily, his heart pounding between his ears as he took her pen.

"Are you okay?" she asked, offering him a puzzled look as she set the file down on his desk. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Yeah," Nick stammered. "I mean, no. I mean – I'm fine. What am I signing?"

There was another knock on his door frame. And this time it was Greg, smiling in that way that he did that erased every bad moment Nick could remember between them. He looked happy, he looked healthy, he looked just the way Nick remembered him when he would think about him at night and wonder if Greg ever thought about him too.

"Hey," Greg said to Nick, before briefly nodding at Riley. "You got time for coffee with an old colleague?"

Nick smiled. "How about an old friend?"

* * *

Nick poured Greg a cup of coffee in the break room, standing against the counter, and he couldn't take his eyes off of him. Nick wasn't sure if he believed in fate or second chances, but if this was his last shot to at least make peace with Greg, then he wasn't going to blow it again. Not this time.

"So what are you doing here?" Nick asked, and took a sip of bitter coffee.

"Detective Gibson called and said they'd found Peter," he responded, staring into his coffee mug. "He said they needed me to come down and ID him." He hesitated for a moment. "He apologized to me too."

"Did he?" Nick asked. "We might've had a conversation here or there about the situation."

Greg smirked with amusement. "I can only imagine how that went."

"We had a heart to heart," Nick responded, grinning. "Have you seen him yet?"

"Gibson?"

"No," Nick said, meeting Greg's eyes, and he knew Greg could tell just who he meant.

"Not yet," Greg said quietly. "I'm waiting for them to get the lineup ready."

"How long are you here?" Nick asked.

Greg shrugged. "I drove, so...as long as it takes, I guess. I took a couple days off work in case they needed me here."

"Are you staying anywhere?"

"No," Greg responded. "I didn't know how long I needed to be here, so I didn't book anything. I figured it wouldn't be too hard to find a place somewhere."

He said it suggestively. It begged the question: Had Greg really driven all this way from California so sure that Nick would let him into his home? It was thrilling to think Greg could have so much faith in them, and of course Nick wanted nothing more than to say yes. But he hesitated, remembering what had happened the last time they had seen each other, wondering if it was the right thing to do or if they should just let sleeping dogs lie. Nick's life had finally been returning to normal, he'd finally allowed himself to begin healing and begin forgetting about Greg. Was he really going to risk more heartache by allowing Greg back into his home?

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Nick admitted.

Greg opened his mouth, but he couldn't seem to find the words. Desperately, his eyes searched Nick's, but Nick wasn't sure what he was looking for, wasn't sure he could give it to him. Finally, Greg looked away, rubbing the nape of his neck and clenching his jaw, his expression pained. Just say it, Nick thought.

_Say it_.

"Please?" Greg finally asked, but Nick was sure that wasn't it.

Before Nick could say anything more, Gibson was standing in the doorway, coughing into his hand awkwardly.

"Ready?" the young detective asked.

"Yeah," Greg replied, but he suddenly appeared quite anxious. He indicated the doorway with his thumb. "Do you, uh...I mean...would you..."

"Go with you?" Nick asked, and Greg nodded sheepishly. "Sure."

* * *

They were standing on the viewing side of a two-way mirror with Detective Gibson. Greg's arms were crossed over his chest, and as he moved one hand to rake nervously through his hair, Nick could see the tremble in his fingertips. They were waiting for the suspect to be brought in along with several "fillers" – people of similar build and complexion, who were usually volunteers or other inmates. The door opened to the side of the interview room, and in walked five men, one of which was Peter Moss.

Nick watched Greg carefully. He looked a mixture of rage and fear, and perhaps a little like he might throw up.

"Greg," Gibson said, standing beside him with a case file. "Do you recognize any of the men in this lineup?"

Greg nodded. "Number three."

"Can number three step forward?" Gibson called through the intercom. Peter took a step closer to the mirror. It was almost unnoticeable, but Nick could see Greg shrink back just a little. "Is this the man that attacked you?"

"Yes," he said, barely audible.

"Is this the man you saw murder Robert Williams?"

"Yes."

"All right," Gibson said, writing in the file in his hand. "Get them out of here."

"That's it?" Greg asked.

"That's it," Gibson replied. "Just hang around for a little bit while I get some paperwork ready I'll need you to sign."

The officers removed Peter from the room, shuffling him into the hallway. Abruptly, Greg turned and burst from the room, pushing the door open loudly. Nick shared a surprised glance with Gibson before following Greg into the hallway. He stood, body tense, fists clenched, jaw set, as Peter was led past him by a police officer. Peter sneered at the former CSI, leaning closer to him as he passed by.

"_Faggot_," he hissed quietly, and Greg flinched.

"Greg," Nick said gently, touching the young man's arm. "Come on. Let's go."

Greg only nodded silently before allowing himself to be led away.

* * *

Nick anxiously sat inside of his office, hardly able to concentrate on any cases or evidence or reports. His mind kept wandering to Greg, wondering where he was or what he was doing. The younger man had been pulled away to sign some paperwork and give some final statements, disappearing into the same police department that had once turned on him so viciously. But not before Nick had given him the extra key to his apartment that Greg had left behind so many months ago.

There were only two hours left in Nick's shift when he received a phone call from Dr. Langston, asking him to assist at a difficult crime scene. Nick briefly considered telling him exactly where to go before agreeing to meet him with a sigh. He banged his head against his desk, groaning loudly before dejectedly rising from his office chair and heading out.

He arrived home a little over an hour after he was supposed to have gotten off of work, his body aching from crawling through the attic of a small home that Langtson's large frame couldn't fit in. He was covered in dirt and sweat and God-knew-what-else, and didn't exactly smell like a bed of roses as he sat in his truck in the parking lot, staring at the light in his apartment window. He was afraid to go upstairs and walk inside, but he couldn't sit in his truck forever.

With a sigh, he exited his vehicle and walked upstairs. Put his hand on the doorknob and wondered what did he want from this, exactly? What was he expecting to happen by letting Greg into his home? Closure, and then what? To never see Greg ever again? Or did he really think he had a chance in convincing Greg to stay?

"Just open the door," he said to himself quietly, aggravated at his own absurdity. It was too late to turn back now.

Quietly, he entered his apartment. He could immediately smell something delicious wafting in the air, and it made him smile. Greg had set the table, a bottle of Pinot noir breathing next to a couple of wine glasses. The oven was on, two plates resting on the rack inside staying warm. Greg was lying down on the couch he had once inhabited so long ago, sleeping soundly with Curious George beneath a maroon Texas A&M blanket, the television on low volume in the background. Nick didn't know whose life this was, but he wished it was his.

He crossed the room to the couch, sitting down on the coffee table. Touched Greg's arm gently, finding warm smooth skin. The young man opened his eyes, breathing in deeply as he did so. Looked at Nick through a sleepy fog before closing his eyes again and burying his face in the couch cushion.

"What time is it?" Greg asked with a yawn.

"It's late," Nick stated. "I got stuck at work."

"I made dinner," Greg said, his expression changing as he caught sight of Nick's appearance. "What happened to you?"

"Rookies," Nick responded with exasperation. "Did you eat yet?"

"I was waiting for you."

Nick nodded. Wondered if Greg had been waiting for Nick all these months like Nick had been waiting for him.

"I'm really sorry I was such a jerk last time I saw you," Nick blurted out, unable to hold it inside any longer.

"It's okay," Greg said, sitting up on the couch and pushing the blanket aside.

"I shouldn't have asked you about that doctor," Nick said. "You were right, it's none of my business."

"No, I should've just told you the truth," Greg conceded.

"Which is?" Nick couldn't help but ask.

"I'm not interested in Devon," Greg admitted, waving away the thought. "I think he's really creepy and I don't want to go on his boat or be on any kind of vessel with him or in any kind of situation where he's not wearing all his clothes." Suddenly Greg seemed embarrassed, shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I was kind of trying to make you jealous."

Nick frowned, and while it was thrilling to hear, he wondered what that meant. Didn't have the heart to ask.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said, abruptly standing and moving into the hallway.

"I'll heat up the food," Greg called. "And when was the last time you took out the garbage? It was like an active volcano spilling out of the bin."

_I was kind of trying to make you jealous_. Nick kept hearing it over and over again as he allowed scalding hot water to cascade down his aching shoulders in the shower. What did that mean? Why was he trying to make Nick jealous? Was he trying to prove something to Nick? Was he trying to prove something to himself? And what would that be, exactly?

Showered and dressed, but not exactly refreshed, Nick exited his bedroom and stepped into the living room. Greg was sitting at the dining table, drinking a glass of wine and listening to music. It was some kind of weird electro-rock sounding track with smooth, emotionally charged vocals. It wasn't Nick's particular taste, but it wasn't terrible either.

Nick sat down heavily at the table, his appetite ravenous. Greg had made chicken breasts stuffed with prosciutto, fontina and mozzarella cheeses, wrapped in bacon and dressed with a marsala mushroom wine sauce. Served it with mashed potatoes and Nick promised himself he would tell Greg how he really felt if it meant he could go back to eating like this every night like he used to.

After dinner, they moved to the balcony. It was a nice night in Las Vegas, a warm and comfortable breeze in the air. Greg was sitting in a lawn chair, his feet propped up on the railing. The wine bottle was empty and now they were drinking beers and shooting whiskey, doing what they do best: ignoring their feelings and getting lost in alcohol-fueled conversation, their words slurring and their laughter louder as the night went on.

Nick held out the bottle of whiskey to Greg, the younger man's finger's brushing against his own as he accepted it, sending a spark through him. Greg took a swig from the bottle, grimacing briefly as he swallowed.

"How can you drink that shit?" Greg asked.

"Because I'm a real man," Nick retorted, grinning. He stood unsteadily, taking the bottle from Greg and taking a swig of his own.

"I know," Greg said, putting his feet down. He looked at Nick, a glint in his eye, a suggestive smile on his lips, and Nick felt his heart race. But he couldn't do this. Not without knowing first.

"Why didn't you answer any of my calls?" Nick asked, and it was almost like he'd physically struck Greg with his words.

"You know why," Greg stated dismissively, leaning back in his chair with distaste.

"Really?" Nick shot dubiously. "That's news to me."

"Come on, Nick," he said, and almost appeared irritated. "Why didn't I tell you I was resigning?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

"You didn't want me to convince you not to?" Nick offered, frowning.

Greg seemed puzzled, as if that hadn't been the answer he was expecting.

"Why do you think I didn't tell you I was leaving?" Greg asked.

"You didn't want me to convince you to stay."

"Why do you think I didn't answer any of your calls?"

"You didn't want me to convince you to come back."

Greg shook his head. "No, Nick. It's because I didn't want to say no."

"Don't you think I at least deserved to hear it?" Nick snapped. He turned and faced the city, gripping the railing with white knuckles.

He felt a hand at the small of his back, Greg coming up beside him, leaning his head against Nick's shoulder, his other hand wrapping around Nick's bicep. Nick allowed him to stand there, but didn't move, too tense and angry to reciprocate the gesture. They stood there in silence for a moment, and Nick could see Greg visibly struggling to say something. Perhaps the same thing he'd tried to say earlier in the break room. It was now or never. Now or never to tell Nick how he really felt before Nick would give up and close the door on this forever. Now or never, Greg.

_Now or never_.

"I'm really sorry, Nick," he said quietly, his voice strained. "I just...after that last night we spent together, I knew we were more than just friends. And I knew that if you asked me...I didn't want to have to say no to you. I didn't want to have to say no to that life. I just thought..." Greg trailed off, and seemed almost frustrated with himself. Frustrated that someone so logical and reasonable such as Greg would have to try to adequately speak from his heart. "I know it was shitty, and every time I saw your name on my phone, I really wanted to answer, but I just thought that if I didn't have to say no, I could maybe keep that door open."

Nick looked at Greg in stunned silence, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. Finally, Nick was able to find words, and was surprised they weren't just grunts and noises.

"If that's the way you feel," Nick asked, "why didn't you just stay?"

"I was afraid that if I did," Greg began, his eyes cast to the city, "I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to get over what happened. I didn't want you to be the reason why I stayed, and then if I never got past what happened at work, I didn't want it to be the reason why I'd start to resent you. I didn't want what happened between us to get ruined by the same people that ruined my life."

And it all made sense. As much as Nick wanted to hate Greg for what he'd done, especially after everything that Nick had done for him, he couldn't do it. Days and nights of agonizing over all of this suddenly didn't matter. Because it all made sense. All this time Nick had thought Greg had thrown away what they'd had, when in fact he had been protecting it.

"Do you think you can forgive me?" Greg asked quietly, looking at him so desperately with such need in his eyes, touching his arm and searing his skin, and it just didn't matter anymore.

"Yes," Nick breathed, slipping his hands onto either side of Greg's face and pulling him into a deep and urgent kiss.

They were soon in Nick's bed, clothes strewn across the floor, inhibitions thrown out the window. Kissing and touching and breathing heavy as they clung to each other like two men lost at sea. And Nick wasn't going to let go, not this time.

* * *

Nick opened his eyes to darkness. His alarm clock read 4:30am, only a few hours after he and Greg had gone to bed. He laid on his side, facing away from the other side of the bed, afraid to check if Greg was still there. Hesitantly, he reached his arm across the mattress next to him. It was empty. Of course it was empty. He screwed his eyes shut tightly, clenching his jaw, wondering how he could've fallen for it again. Wondering how Greg could so easily come and go. How he could so easily say what Nick wanted to hear just to take it away. Again.

A retching from the bathroom gave him pause. Curiously, he got out of bed and stepped into the hall. He could see the light on under the door, heard the toilet flush. Frowning, he pushed the door open, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the harsh florescent light. Greg was sitting on the floor next to the toilet, his back against the bathtub. Elbows leaning on his bent knees, head in his hands.

"Greg?" he asked carefully, squatting down beside him. "Are you all right?"

Greg shook his head. "I think I drank too much."

"Don't party like you used to, huh?" Nick asked, gently touching Greg's shoulder.

"Not with Texans anymore," Greg stated. "You guys' liver is made out of...the stuff they make horseshoes and branding irons with. What is that stuff?"

"One is steel and one is iron," Nick replied.

"Whatever."

"Do you want me to get you something?"

"No," he replied, before waving Nick away. "Can you go? I can't do this in front of you. I don't want you to see this."

"I'm pretty sure I've seen much worse," Nick stated. Abruptly, Greg pulled himself to his knees, vomiting into the toilet violently. He groaned and sat back again, looking pale and miserable but Nick was so relieved to see him he could've kissed him even now. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm not," Greg said with disdain. "I hate throwing up."

"I meant..." Nick began, and then shook his head, smiling with amusement. "Are you still drunk?"

"I think so."

Nick laughed. "Let me get you some water."

* * *

Morning. Nick opened his heavy eyes briefly before closing them again, yawning deeply as he stretched. He laid there for a moment, glanced to his left and saw the bed was empty yet again. What would it take to not wake up alone, he mused with a sigh. He could hear clattering in the kitchen, could smell coffee and it was calling his name.

Tiredly, he got up out of bed and moved into the living room. Greg was at his suitcase, folding the pair of jeans he'd been wearing yesterday. He looked to be in much better condition than earlier this morning; shaved and showered and dressed, and Nick wondered how long he'd been awake. Wondered why he was packing his things.

"Hey," Greg greeted, smiling.

"Hey."

"I didn't know what time you'd be getting up so I haven't started breakfast yet," Greg said.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked, frowning.

"Just putting my stuff together," Greg responded, almost casually.

"Are you leaving?"

"I have to work tomorrow," Greg stated. Looked at Nick, shrugging, appearing as if Nick should understand.

"When are you coming back?" Nick asked. Greg opened his mouth, but hesitated just a moment too long. "Are you coming back?"

"I don't know," Greg replied quietly, focusing on fidgeting with his suitcase.

"How many times are we going to do this?" Nick spat angrily, a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. "What happened to all those things you said last night?"

"Come on, Nick," the other man said, throwing his hands in the air. "My whole life is in L.A. now. Your whole life is here. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to stay," Nick said, as if it were obvious.

"So let me get this straight," Greg began, incredulous. "You want me to leave my career, my apartment, my family, my friends, so I can come back to the same city that fucked me over, so I can be with you?"

Nick didn't even pause. "Yes."

"Do you hear yourself?" Greg asked. "I mean, do you really know what you sound like?"

"I don't care, Greg," Nick declared. "Every time I see you, I don't know if it'll be the last time I see you. I should've told you how I felt before you left Las Vegas. I should've told you how I felt before I left L.A. And if this is the last time I see you again, I'm not going to let you leave without telling you how I feel."

"Which is?" Greg asked, unimpressed.

This time, Nick did pause. Because he did know what he sounded like. He sounded crazy and obsessed and too emotionally invested, too overly possessive of something he wasn't even sure was real. But how would he know if he didn't try? It was now or never, and he wasn't going to let Greg walk out of his life without one last fight.

"I want you to stay here with me," Nick replied, the words spilling out of him in a rushed mess. "I want you to leave L.A. and stay here with me and see what happens. I want to eat breakfast with you, and dinner, and drink on the balcony until you throw up in the bathroom at four in the morning. I want to know what it feels like to wake up in the same bed as you. You don't have to work at the crime lab, you can do whatever you want. You can do exactly what you're doing in L.A., just do it here. With me."

Greg stood there, his expression displaying his distaste. But Nick could see something in his eyes, something he couldn't quite read.

"Do you love me, Nick?" Greg asked, just as he had so many months ago.

And this time, Nick knew what to say.

"Yes."

"You need to stop," Greg said, rolling his eyes, suddenly zipping up his suitcase with a flourish and making haste in looking busy. "And I need to go."

"Tell me you don't love me," Nick said.

"You're being ridiculous."

"Tell me you don't love me," Nick repeated, more firmly.

"I'm not doing this."

Nick crossed the room to the younger man, grabbing Greg by his arms. Greg tried to pull away, but Nick gripped his biceps hard, forcing Greg to stop and look at him. Nick's eyes searched his, trying desperately to find what he was looking for.

"Tell me you don't love me!" Nick demanded, breathing heavy, his heart pounding.

"_I don't love you!"_ Greg yelled, before looking away, his eyes cast anywhere but Nick's. "I'm sorry, Nick. But I don't."

Nick felt his heart sink into his stomach. Felt angry and hurt. Felt like he should've known better, felt like a fool. How could he have let Greg back into his life so easily knowing how this would end? Nick pushed Greg away roughly, nearly knocking him to the ground as Nick took a few steps back. He needed to put space between them. He was afraid of what he would do if he didn't.

"Nick," Greg began, but Nick could barely hear him.

"Get out," Nick responded quietly, his jaw set.

"Nick," Greg repeated, reaching his hand out.

"Get out!" Nick boomed, threateningly taking a step closer to Greg, who took a step back in surprise. "Get the fuck out of my apartment and the fuck out of my life!"

Greg nodded, silently picking up his suitcase from the couch. Silently crossing the room to the door and silently opening it and stepping into the hallway. And perhaps Nick should have silently let him go. But he didn't.

"And Greg?" Nick asked through gritted teeth, his hand on the doorknob. The younger man looked up hopefully, but Nick was scowling. "I hope this _is_ the last time I see you."

Nick could only hope he'd one day forget the horror in Greg's face as he slammed the door he'd left open for Greg all this time once and for all.

* * *

Nick's day had steadily gotten worse after kicking Greg out of his apartment – out of his life. He had to work that evening and got stuck processing a scene involving a father that had murdered his wife and child before taking his own life, presumably due to financial struggles. It ate up the majority of his shift, but as a supervisor he couldn't just turn his mind off and concentrate on collecting evidence. He had to answer his phone every five minutes because Wendy couldn't get logged into her computer. Henry and Hodges had gotten into an argument over who should be the one assigned to trace that night and who would get to run the chem lab. A suspect had struck Riley as she tried to get a dental impression, and in return she had awarded him with a black eye and a bruised ego.

Nick just wanted to get through tonight. Get through tonight, go home, lie in bed, and drink whiskey while watching pornography in between bouts of crying into his pillow. And absolutely under no circumstances was he allowed to think about Greg Sanders.

Do not think about Greg telling him they were more than just friends. Do not think about Greg telling him he'd hoped to keep the door open for them. Do not think about Greg apologizing. Do not think about Greg kissing him so fervently. Laying together in bed and holding Greg close after finding him sick in the bathroom. Touching Greg's sweet-smelling hair and fucking him as they spooned.

"Damn it," Nick hissed, looking up from the evidence he'd been processing in the lab.

"Sorry, I'll get Catherine to do it," he heard from the doorway, catching sight of Riley's retreating form. He had been so deep in thought, he hadn't even noticed her enter or heard her ask him anything.

"No, not you," Nick said, waving her towards him. "What do you need? And why doesn't anyone ever bother Catherine first?"

Riley smiled, handing him a case file. "You have a kinder face."

Nick scoffed at the idea. Ask Greg how kind Nick had appeared after he'd slammed the door on him this morning.

Soon the sun had risen, and Nick's shift was finally over. He couldn't say he was looking forward to going home, though. Especially since he knew his apartment would be empty forever. Well, perhaps forever was a little melodramatic, but he couldn't quite yet imagine finding a suitable replacement for the man he'd lost. Couldn't imagine anyone being able to talk for hours on the balcony about nothing and everything, someone who would play marathon video game sessions with him, someone who would make his heart race with just one look. And the cooking – God, what was he going to do without Greg's cooking? He could hardly bear to fathom the thought.

He parked his truck in the lot, sighing heavily, gathering the courage to go upstairs. It would be quiet inside. It would be dark. There would be no coffee and no breakfast, and there certainly wouldn't be anyone to share it with. Finally, he grabbed his gear and crossed the parking lot, pausing at the sight of a man sitting on the steps of the breezeway. His man. Leaning against the concrete banister, eyes closed, wearing the same clothes he'd worn yesterday.

Nick was relieved and angry and distressed and elated all at the same time, and he wasn't quite sure what to do. He approached Greg cautiously, standing in front of him for a moment before nudging Greg's sleeping form with his knee. Greg opened his eyes, startling at the sight of Nick. Quickly, the younger man stood, smoothing down his hair and straightening out his clothes self-consciously.

"Hey," Greg said, and as he took an uneasy breath Nick could hear a shuddering in Greg's chest. Waited for Nick to respond, but Nick didn't have any words for him. Nervously, the young man shoved his hands into his jeans' pockets. "Right. I know you're mad. And that you said you didn't ever want to see me again, but I thought about that, and if it's this or nothing, I think I'd rather have this."

"You think?" Nick asked, incredulous. He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaws working against one another.

"Yeah," Greg replied, nodding. "I mean, I drove all the way to L.A., and then I drove all the way back because, you know...you're not there. And I don't want to live a life that you're not a part of."

"Forgive me if I've heard this before."

"I know, I know," Greg conceded, rubbing the nape of his neck, his eyes cast to the parking lot. And while Nick may have felt just a little guilty making Greg squirm, he had to admit he was enjoying watching Greg struggle once again to speak from his heart instead of using sense and reason. "I just...kept thinking about all those things you said. About breakfast and dinner and vomiting at four in the morning, or whatever. And I...want to do all that stuff with you. Except for the vomiting part."

Nick almost smiled in amusement. Almost.

"Look, I'm scared, okay?" Greg admitted with frustration. "It's fucking crazy to leave everything for just one thing that might not even work out...but I'm willing to try if you still are."

Nick felt his heart soar. Quietly, he asked, "What made you change your mind?"

Greg shrugged. "I don't know. Sometimes you have to think with your heart, right?"

Nick remembered those words spoken by Greg on the shore at Lake Mead so long ago, and he smiled. Because Greg had finally found someone that made him want to think with his heart and take that leap of faith. And that someone was Nick.

"What about your job?" Nick asked.

"I won't have one soon," Greg admitted. "So I hope you can afford to keep me."

Nick reached his hand out, offering it to Greg. Watched Greg's expression change as he slipped his hand in Nick's. Of course Nick could afford to keep him. He didn't think he could afford not to.

* * *

The two men easily fell back into their old routine as if no time had passed between them. Each evening Nick would awaken to dinner. Nick would go to work and upon his return Greg would greet him with breakfast. They would both sleep during the day, and Nick finally found out what it felt like to wake up with Greg still there beside him. And this was Nick's life.

There were still some days that Nick allowed his fear of Greg leaving again to grip him, but as time went by, slowly but surely, Nick felt comfortable that this was what Greg really wanted. Eventually, days turned to weeks. Weeks to months. They moved into a two bedroom/two bath apartment which neither man had the desire to decorate (nor the eye to do it). Greg searched for work, and found a part-time job at a small community college teaching chemistry and an introductory criminal justice class. It wasn't exactly what he wanted to do, but finding employment in Las Vegas proved to be more difficult than when he'd first arrived so many years ago.

And then Riley Adams left the crime lab, and résumés began piling up on Nick's desk. He split them between himself and Catherine, and they painfully sorted through them together in the break room one night.

"What are you guys doing?" Sara asked, as she entered to grab a cup of coffee. She had rejoined their team only a few months ago, and Nick was so grateful to have her. There were only a few people missing now: Warrick, who had left them to meet his Maker. Grissom, although he was happily waiting at home for Sara. And, of course, Greg, who had been robbed of a career he had worked so hard to attain.

"Looking through all these résumés," Nick said forlornly.

"What a mess," said Catherine.

"Too bad Greg's isn't in there, huh?" Sara asked, before leaving as quickly as she'd arrived.

"Yeah," Nick agreed, rubbing his eyes wearily.

"You don't think he'd be interested?" Catherine inquired suggestively. Both women had seen Greg here and there over the past few months and were aware he had moved back to Las Vegas and was living with Nick, but not the extent of their relationship. At least as far as Nick knew.

"Do you really think Ecklie would hire him back?" Nick asked, eyeing her from across the table.

"Who's more qualified than Greg?" she mused. "If we both choose him as a candidate, and Ecklie turns down our recommendation, that would be considered discrimination, wouldn't it? If he has no other reason except what happened between them?"

"I don't think Greg would go for it," Nick said, shaking his head.

"Come on, Nicky," Catherine pleaded. "Convince him."

Nick leaned back in his chair, pensive. Saw the hope in Catherine's eyes and felt it in his own chest.

Finally, he said, "We'd have to be sure first."

"So what do you suggest?" she asked.

He looked at her with disdain. "We have to talk to Ecklie. And we need Greg's resume."

* * *

Obtaining Greg's résumé was easy enough. Nick had a copy of it in his personal e-mail, having printed it and faxed it at work one night to an employer upon Greg's request when the fax machine at home had broken. Next was talking to Ecklie. Both he and Catherine stood outside of the undersheriff's door for about ten minutes, going over their plan and working up the courage to go inside.

Finally, cautiously, they entered Ecklie's office. He was signing paperwork at his desk, only offering the two CSIs a brief and disinterested look upon their entrance.

"Morning, Conrad," Catherine said casually, but her posture was tense. She placed a manila folder on top of the paperwork in front of him with delicate fingers.

"What's this?" he asked, taking the folder and opening it.

Catherine and Nick shared a nervous glance before she responded, "Our recommendation for the new hire."

"Good," he said, but his face quickly fell as he read over the résumé. He looked up at his two employees over his reading glasses, his expression displaying his displeasure. "Is this a joke?"

"No," Catherine stated, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyebrow raised. Nick followed suit, mirroring her resolute stance. "There isn't anyone more qualified for the job. He's got the credentials, experience. His certification is still good. The fact that he worked here for so long already, we'd hardly have to train him. He's reliable, loyal, we wouldn't be taking any chances. Both Nick and I are recommending him for the job."

"Out of every other candidate," Ecklie said, leaning back in his chair, "this is the only one who's qualified?"

Nick was about to protest when Catherine simply said, "Yes."

"My answer is no," Ecklie declared, tossing the manila folder across his desk.

"Why?" Catherine asked, unimpressed with his answer, and even Nick had to look at her in surprise.

"What do you mean, why?" Ecklie asked heatedly.

"I want to know the reason you have for turning down our candidate. He's qualified, correct?"

"Yes."

"He's certified?"

"Yes."

"So what's the problem?"

"The problem is that this is the same man that put this department through a PR nightmare," Ecklie stated, pushing out his chair and standing from desk. He picked up the folder, holding it out to Catherine. Nick felt his skin crawl as he tried to imagine how Greg – a victim of a brutal attack after witnessing a murder – could've put the department through anything. What about what the department had put Greg through?

"Okay," Catherine conceded, her stare unwavering. She took the folder from him, opening it and grabbing a pen off of his desk. "Just give me the _legal_ reason so I can document it in our rejection letter to Greg."

Ecklie's mouth formed a perfect _O. _Catherine had backed him into a corner, and the older man knew it. His expression changed from shock to anger, his eyes narrowing and his jaw setting. Nick held his breath, waiting for the inevitable fury that would be unleashed upon them.

"Fine," Ecklie said, and Nick felt his own mouth form a perfect _O_. Quickly, Nick closed his mouth, trying to remain stoic. "But don't think I won't be watching him."

Catherine smiled, turning on her heel and walking out of the office with Nick hot on her trail. He closed the door behind them, and they looked at each other with wide eyes and open mouths.

"I can't believe you just did that!" Nick exclaimed, holding on to Catherine's shoulders.

"You don't mess with Mama," she replied, winking, and then suddenly appeared relieved. She put her hand on her heart, leaning into Nick. "I think I need a strong drink, though."

Now there was only one thing left to do: Convince Greg to come back. And that was Nick's job. _Batter up._

* * *

Nick arrived home from work to see Greg working diligently at the dining table, dozens of papers strewn about in front of him. Nick greeted him cheerily, but Greg did not seem to share the same enthusiasm that morning.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked, peering over Greg's shoulder.

"Grading tests," Greg responded, and sighed heavily. "Based on some of these answers, I'm pretty concerned for victims if these students are the future of crime solving."

"That bad, huh?" Nick asked, amused. He poured himself some coffee and sat down across the table from Greg. "Listen, this teaching thing isn't something you want to do forever, right?"

"No. I mean, it's just something to do until I find something I like. You know that," Greg said, and then frowned. "Why are you asking? I know I don't make what I used to. I'm not putting us in some kind of financial situation, am I?"

"No," Nick replied quickly, dismissively waving away Greg's concern. "First of all, I make more than enough money to support both of us."

"Don't tease me," Greg said almost absently, his brow knotted as he scribbled something in red pen on the test in front of him. "You know it's my dream to become a housewife and stay at home with the children."

Nick laughed, almost nervously. Greg looked up from his papers, narrowing his eyes.

"What did you do?" Greg asked.

"Nothing," Nick said, holding his hands up defensively. He cast his eyes to the table. "I just...one of my CSIs left."

Greg scoffed, immediately understanding what Nick was insinuating. "Really, Nick? Really? No."

"Come on, Greg," Nick pleaded, leaning forward in his chair. "Why won't you at least think about it?"

"Are you really asking me that question?" Greg inquired with distaste. "And even if I wanted to, they would never hire me back. So just forget it."

"Why not? You weren't fired."

"_Ecklie_ would never hire me back," he amended.

"What if he would?" Nick asked, shrugging innocently.

"Tell me you did not say something to him," Greg demanded, his voice edged with anger.

"I might have...mentioned something," Nick replied hesitantly. He cleared his throat. "Or maybe Catherine did most of the talking."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Greg yelled, dubious. He pushed his chair out roughly, standing and moving into the kitchen. "Tell me you're kidding. You really did not try to convince the same asshole that fucked me over to take me back? What do I look like to you? Do I look fucking pathetic to you? Like my life is so fucking terrible I have to go crawling back to the same guy that fucked me?"

"No, Greg," Nick responded gently, standing and crossing the room to Greg. "You loved being a CSI. You were so good at it."

"I'm good at anything I do," Greg shot back combatively.

"Of course you are," Nick said. "But you worked so hard to get into the field, and it's not fair that someone took it away from you. You win if you take this job, don't you see that?"

"I'm not talking about this with you anymore," Greg said, pushing up his sleeves as he turned and faced the sink, making haste in washing dishes.

"Will you at least think about it?" Nick asked.

"No."

Nick sighed, leaving Greg alone in the kitchen. And while Greg had said he refused to consider it further, Nick could see it weighing heavily on his mind. The young man seemed distracted over the next few days, and Nick would catch him idly staring into space while grading papers or watching television. Then, one evening, as Nick was reading over some case files at the dining table, Greg approached silently. Nick eyed him expectantly.

"Fine," Greg said, and Nick knew. "But please don't make a big deal out of it, okay?"

Nick nodded casually, returning his gaze to his paperwork, and he waited until Greg left before allowing himself to smile.

* * *

So Greg came back to the LVPD crime lab, and was pleasantly surprised at his reception. Enough time had passed that old wounds had healed, old assumptions had been laid to rest. The lab rats swarmed around him, asking where he'd been and what he'd been doing. Asking him for advice and assistance his first day back. Telling him they'd missed him and were so glad to see him in the halls again. Nick was glad to see him too. Was glad to see him smiling and joking around with coworkers. Was even glad to see him flirting with Catherine and Sara, who always found a reason to stop by Greg's desk or find him somewhere in the lab processing evidence, checking up on him and making sure he was all right.

It was a few weeks in, and Greg was right back into the swing of things. Nick allowed him to enter the field alone and take on his own cases, and Greg was eager not to disappoint him. Diligently, Greg worked, crossing all of his t's and dotting all of his i's. Nick was proud to see him flourish, even if he did worry every time a few hours had gone by and Greg hadn't checked in. But he supposed that was the nature of having a loved one in law enforcement.

Nick spotted Greg in the lockers one night, sitting tiredly on the bench. Greg's shift had ended an hour ago, but he was waiting for Nick to finish up so they could go home together. Nick was about to enter when Sara emerged from a row of lockers to sit down beside him.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked.

"Sure," Greg replied with a yawn.

"It's a personal question," she warned, shifting closer to him.

He eyed her suspiciously. "Okay."

"Are you and Nick more than just friends?" she asked, in such a blunt and awkward way that only Sara could pull off without sounding crass. Greg hesitated just a moment too long, giving himself away. "I knew it!"

"Shh, relax," Greg chastened.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, sounding hurt.

"I don't know if Nick wants anybody to know. Not that it's anybody's business. Besides, we've only been official for a few months."

"A few months!" she hissed quietly, punching his arm.

"Ow!" he yelped, sliding away from her.

"When did you guys start dating?"

"Before I left Las Vegas." She punched him again. "Stop it!"

"Before – ! I can't believe you didn't tell me," she stated, shaking her head in disbelief. She was suddenly very serious. "Do you love him?"

Greg offered her a sideways glance and smiled.

"You do!" she exclaimed. "I'm still mad you didn't tell me, but I'm happy for you, Greg. You deserve to be happy. So does Nick."

Nick stepped away from the doorway, his heart racing. Greg had yet to say those words to Nick. Nick had not attempted to say them again after admitting his love for Greg when the younger man had asked a few months ago. Perhaps it was not healthy for Nick to keep his fears inside, but he was afraid if he pushed Greg too hard, Greg would leave him again. Mostly, he was afraid if he told Greg he loved him again, Greg would not reciprocate the sentiment. And that was something Nick wasn't sure he could handle.

Maybe now was the time to find out.

* * *

They were sitting on the balcony watching the sun rise, cold beers in their hands. Greg yawned deeply, stretching his arms to the sky, his shirt pulling up just enough for Nick to catch sight of smooth, tan skin. They weren't really having a conversation, just quietly unwinding after a long night at the crime lab.

Suddenly, Nick felt anxious. He had held this inside of him for so long, and he was afraid to speak but felt he would explode at the same time. Just say it, he urged himself, watching the handsome man next to him carefully, and he never thought he could be so terrified in his life. A small glass box in the ground was nothing compared to this.

"Greg," he began, but when Greg looked at him through half-closed eyes, Nick lost all words.

Greg sat up, appearing slightly alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"No, nothing," Nick said, rolling his eyes at his own cowardice. "I just...wanted you to know...that...I love you."

Greg smiled, his cheeks flushing with crimson as his gaze traveled back to the city. He leaned back in his seat, slouching down comfortably. Nick waited with bated breath for words he wasn't sure he'd ever hear.

Then: "I love you too."

And they sat there in the oranges and pinks and purples of the Nevada sunrise, each man silently enjoying the company of the one they loved.

* * *

The End. Leave me some love, please. You know you want to.


End file.
